She didn't recur to the subject next day, however, but passed the entire morning with Florimond, planning the details of a garden-party, and editing the list of guests; and she threw her whole soul into it, too: so that, when the King looked in upon them, a little before luncheon, Florimond smiled at him significantly (indeed, I’m not sure he didn't wink at him) and called out, "Oh, we are enjoying of ourselves. Please don't interrupt. Go back to your counting-house and count out your money, and leave us in the parlour to eat our bread and honey."
It is in the nature of things, doubtless, that a temperament such as I have endeavoured to suggest, should find the intensity of its own feelings reflected by those that it excites in others. One would expect to hear that the people who like Queen Aneli like her tremendously, and that the people who don’t like her tremendously don't like her at all. And, in effect, that is precisely the lady's case. She is tremendously liked by those who are near to her, and who are therefore in a position to understand her and to make allowances. They love the woman in her; they laugh at and love the high-spirited, whimsical, impetuous, ingenuous child. But those who are at a distance from her, or who meet her only rarely and formally, necessarily fail to understand her, and are apt, accordingly, neither to admire her greatly, nor to hear her much good will. And, of course, while the people who are near to her can be named by twos and threes, those who view her from a distance must be reckoned with by thousands. And this brings me to a painful circumstance, which I may as well mention without more ado. At Vescova—as you could scarcely spend a day in the town, and not become aware—Queen Aneli is anything you please but popular.
"The inhabitants of Monterosso," says M. Boridov, in his
