I
liked the last beautiful days of September in the country. The trees
were just beginning to turn, and the rides in the woods were delightful,
the roads so soft and springy. The horses seemed to like the brisk
canter as much as we did. We disturbed all the forest life as we
galloped along--hares and rabbits scuttled away--we saw their white
tails disappearing into holes, and when we crossed a bit of plain,
partridges a long distance off would rise and take their crooked flight
across the fields. It was so still, always is in the woods, that the
horses' feet could be heard a long way off. It was getting colder (all
the country folk predicted a very cold winter) and the wood-fire looked
very cheerful and comfortable in my little salon when we came in.
However, everything must end, and W. had to go back to the fight, which
promised to be lively. In Paris we found people wearing furs and
preparing for a cold winter. The house of the Quai d'Orsay was
comfortable, well warmed, caloriferes and big fires in all the rooms,
and whenever there was any sun it poured into the rooms from the garden.
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