"Yes; there 's a great deal of him to kill," said Mrs. Harden, dryly.
When she found that Robert was in a fair way to recover, her womanly compassion was forgotten, and her old prejudice against Philip's rival came back.
"What a tragic year this has been!" she continued; "enough of melodrama to fill a five-act play. I think it very vulgar and third-rate, all this blood and murder and detectives. One is obliged to know so much about it all, too, in this country. They manage these things better in France, do they not, Comte?"
"Ah! madame is always so amiable in her recollections of my country."
"Because it 's my country too, and Mr. Rondelet's also. Paris belongs to the world, not only to the French. Is it not so Philip? You are at heart more of a Frenchman than an American."
"I certainly was once, Mrs. Harden. To-day I cannot say. I feel very differently about my own country."
"Tiens! This is a change of base. Why, six months ago I heard you declare,—I remember your very words,—'I would give my life for this country, because it would be my duty to do so; I would die for France because I love her.'"
