And when we want a change we have
only to take the railway to the frontier, and find ourselves in Germany."
Listening, so far, with a very bewildered face, Francis started and
changed color when my wife reached the end of her last sentence.
"Germany?" he repeated.
"Yes. Does Germany remind you of anything?"
The hostler's eyes looked down sadly on the ground. "Germany reminds me of
my wife," he replied.
"Indeed! How?"
"She once told me she had lived in Germany--long before I knew her--in the
time when she was a young girl."
"Was she living with relations or friends?"
"She was living as governess in a foreign family."
"In what part of Germany?"
"I don't remember, ma'am. I doubt if she told me."
"Did she tell you the name of the family?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was a foreign name, and it has slipped my memory long
since. The head of the family was a wine grower in a large way of
business--I remember that."
"Did you hear what sort of wine he grew? There are wine growers in our
neighborhood. Was it Moselle wine?"
"I couldn't say, ma'am, I doubt if I ever heard."
There the conversation dropped. We engaged to communicate with Francis
Raven before we left England, and took our leave. I had made arrangements
to pay our round of visits to English friends, and to return to Maison
Rouge in the summer.
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