Would not society
have been scandalized had it known of their doings?
How true it is that happiness is in a mood rather than in a moment. How
eagerly we prepare for and pursue the fickle sprite, only to find our
preparations and chase giving nothing but dullness, fatigue, and ennui.
But then how often without exertion or warning, the sprite is upon us,
and tinges the whole atmosphere. So it was at this moment, with two of
the four. The coffee might have been all beans, and yet it would have
been better than the best served in Viennese cafes. The rolls might have
had even a more weepy amount of mustard, and yet the burning and the
tears would only have been the more of a joke. The sun came up, as they
ate, talked and laughed, touching everything about them with gold, but
it might have poured torrents, and the two would have been as happy.
For Leonore was singing to herself: "He isn't dead. He isn't dead."
And Peter was thinking: "She loves me. She must love me."
CHAPTER LVIII.
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