The afternoon sky is a clear, crisp blue, with tiny wisps of cloud holding on to the edge of the horizon with the determination of a drowning man reaching for a lifeboat. Baltazzi watches the tall poplars and birch trees dancing in the wind, refusing to bend until at last they acquiesce, bowing their leafy crowns like defeated warriors before a king. He wonders if he’s the only one who see them that way? He looks at the girls behind him—Anastasia is sitting between the girls, trying to read her book, or perhaps she's just pretending? Annette and Collette are staring out at the passing scenery, just as he’s trying to—and he decides no one sees things the way he does, because they haven’t lost anything in their lives…not yet, at least, he tells himself. And is that how he looks at the future, he wonders—at their futures? Is everything an inherent loss because of the losses he’s endured? Or is the word suffered?
He watches the willows brushing at the sky with their leafy tendrils; the dry grass swaying and rippling under the wind’s gentle touch, and the flowers looking like an artist’s palette of colours even as the automobile kicks up dust swirls and eddies, until it looks like there’s a distant mist playing on the horizon behind them.
They’ve been on the road since the early dawn, and the Countess is driving. The morning mist having given way to the afternoon heat, Baltazzi is seated beside the Countess, looking nervous and uncomfortable. He feels more comfortable when Johanne is driving, he tells himself, instead of seated beside him. His fist is clenched, and it looks like he’s almost standing on one leg, as if he's readying to launch himself out of the seat at the first sign of danger. He's dressed warmly for the early Spring weather, with goggles the Countess has told him to wear, but now he’s too hot. He's wearing a homburg as well, and a scarf tucked into an overcoat with a fur collar. His mutton chop whiskers and thick handlebar moustache are pushed up into his face, and he tries to brush hair away from his goggles with his other hand. The Countess is wearing a long coat, a wide brimmed hat tied down with a silk scarf, and doe-skin riding gloves. She’s laughing with delight.
"You really must learn to relax, Poppa," she says with a smile.
"Must you drive so fast, then?"
"If I drive any slower, you'll feel more of the bumps. Won't we Johanne?" she says, leaning forward to look at Johanne.
"Yes Countess, but if you slow down as you approach the corners, we won't slide as much," the Chauffeur suggests.
“And where’s the fun in that, right girls?”
Their luggage is being brought out by Hans the gardener, who’s following in the house wagon—a 1903 Ford—because there’s not enough room in the Napier for all the trunks and suitcases. For a moment Baltazzi thinks it would’ve been easier on his nerves if he’d followed behind with the luggage.
"You see? Even Johanne says you should slow down," Baltazzi says quickly.
"Yes Poppa," the Countess replies with a smile, and pats his thigh gently. Baltazzi lightly places her hand back on the steering wheel. The Countess laughs again as she reaches out for the gearshift, and the automobile picks up speed again.
"Oh Poppa, imagine what you'd be like if I were to go up in one of those flying machines."
"A flying machine?"
"An aeroplane," she says.
"I know what a flying machine is," Baltazzi says quickly. "And I absolutely forbid you to go up in one."
"Forbid me?"
"Of course. Man's not meant to fly," he adds thoughtfully, and the Countess laughs.
"Of course he isn't, but did anyone say anything about a woman flying?"
"That's a ridiculous idea."
"I hear those two American—the brothers—were in Paris last month, and they flew for more than an hour."
"Yes, well I read that they've crashed once or twice, and that one of their passengers was killed. I can accept your learning to drive, but I have to draw the line at the idea of flying."
"Oh Poppa, I never said I was going to learn to fly; I said I'd like to try it. I'd like to see what it's like to be in an aeroplane. That doesn't mean we're going to buy one and fly everywhere instead of using the automobile. I mean, what about poor Johanne? What would we do with him then? We'd have to teach him to fly as well so he could take you places."
"I don't like it when you tease me like that," Baltazzi says, and turns his head to look out at the passing Hungarian steppes.
"Poppa, you're going to have to join us in the twentieth century sooner or later," Anastasia says with a laugh, not lifting her eyes from her book.
"I'm in the twentieth century," Baltazzi says.
“Are you? And where's your sense of adventure?” she asks
"I've had enough adventure to last me a lifetime, thank you very much."
"Really Poppa? You don't do anything except tend to those silly horses," Anastasia says, putting her book on her lap and smiling her best smile.
"Silly horses? Is that what you think of them? You never thought like that when you were a little girl learning to ride. They're beautiful animals. They have a lot more soul than some people I’ve known. In fact, right now I'm thinking they've got a lot more soul than you pretend to have."
"But we don't use the coach anymore."
"We don't? And what about your things? I should get rid of my horses because now that we have an automobile, well, they’re a redundancy, aren't they? Like last year’s fashions, I might add.”
"I just don't see how they're worth the trouble of looking after them, if they're not of any practical use anymore."
"Practical use? They're horses. How can a horse not be of any practical use to anyone?"
"You leave him alone," Collette says with a trace of sarcasm in her voice. "Poppa likes the old coach and four. He misses the old days. He loves his horses."
"As a matter of fact, I do," Baltazzi says to her.
"Of course you do Poppa. And we do too," she adds. "But we live in a different age now. Stacey just doesn't know how to say it the right way."
"And I suppose you do?"
"We liked the horses when we had to use them. We liked that it took us three days of travel, instead of only six or seven hours; we liked that we didn't have the time to do all those things we wanted to; that it was hot, dusty, and smelly—“
"Or that we choked on the dust," Anastasia says, without looking up from her book.
"Did I say it was dusty, Poppa?" Collette smiles.
"All right, all right, I think I understand," Baltazzi laughs. "The automobile is faster, more convenient, and even more comfortable, I suppose. But I still miss the old days," he says with a determination as he shifts himself in his seat; he looks at the girls directly. "I'm probably not the only one who still feels that way, either. I don't know why you have to say I refuse to let myself become a part of the twentieth century? That's like saying I refuse to accept progress. Didn't I change all the gas lighting to proper electric lights last year? Didn't I buy a gramophone for you girls? And didn't we apply to have a telephone? That sounds like all the modern conveniences to me."
"The world's moving faster than we can keep up," the Countess says.
"But we're keeping up," Baltazzi says to no one in particular. He turns back in his seat and looks at the road in front of them. "Ha! Get rid of the horses," he says suddenly, as if he's been thinking about it to great consternation.
"Does lady Pritchard have horses? Or do they have an automobile?" Collette asks.
"Lady Pritchard? Not anymore," Baltazzi says with a laugh. "I don't believe she's the type of woman to have horses about if she doesn't have to. Besides, they live in the city."
"She has an old horse and buggy," the Countess says.
"How many horses does she have?" Collette asks.
"She doesn't have any," Baltazzi insists. "Her husband—what’s his name again? I keep forgetting it."
"How can you keep forgetting his name? We spent the summer with them," the Countess reminds him. "His name is Randolf."
"Oh yes. Randolf. And why would I want to remember him? I don't even like the man," he says with a laugh. "Anyway, he has a bicycle, one of those big wheeled English contrivances—“
"A Penny-Farthing?" Annette says brightly.
"Is that what they call them? Insane contraptions. He was telling me all about it this summer, when we were in London. It was all he could do to contain himself. He said they didn't need the added expense of a horse and buggy now that they had a telephone. They just call a number, and someone comes along and takes them wherever they want to go. Otherwise, he rides his bicycle. I'm surprised Julia never mentioned it to you," he says matter-of-factly to the Countess.
"We were discussing other things."
"Womanly things," he laughs. “Fashion—although what she knows about fashion..."
"Poppa. Must you be like this every time we go to see them?"
"You know I don't care for them. And yet you insist we go there and visit them, and their insufferable children."
"Insufferable?"
"You don't find them insufferable? Then how about intolerable?"
"That's the same thing," Annette laughs.
"They're children. And I don't think you should be discussing this in front of the girls. Or Johanne."
"You don't think Johanne has his own opinions of our friends, or their children?" Baltazzi says with a laugh.
"Poppa! Enough!" the Countess says sternly.
"I'm sorry," Baltazzi says, and laughs again. "You're right. She's your friend, and you've known her forever. You should have the right to visit her whenever you wish."
"You really must learn to keep your opinions to yourself." She tries to be stern, but she can't, and he sees a smile play across her thin lips as she shakes her head.
"I can tolerate him if I must," Baltazzi says. "For your sake."
"Well, this time it will be different."
"Different? How's that?"
"Her nephew will be there. He's a musician."
"A musician? Oh wonderful."
“No, really. He’s quite good from what I understand. He's been in Paris, but he's here for the Emperor's jubilee. He'll be playing at a luncheon of some sort in the afternoon before the Grand Ball."
"A luncheon?"
"All the crowned heads and dignitaries will be there."
"Julia?"
"No. Of course not."
"But I thought Randall—“
"Randolf, Poppa!" Annette laughs.
"Randolf? I thought he was a big banker in town now? I mean, that's the way he made it sound when we were in London."
"You're doing it again," the Countess says, levelling a look at him.
"Am I? Well then, this nephew? Does he have a name?"
"George. He's part of a famous quartet. But he's there under a serious cloud," she adds as a warning.
"A serious cloud? What's that supposed to mean?"
"There was an indiscretion in Paris."
"An indiscretion? And what's that supposed to mean? Do you have to be so elliptical?"
"There's a scandal."
"And I'm supposed to know what it is? Or am I supposed to guess at what it is?"
The Countess shakes her head slowly.
"I should know, right? I should understand what you're trying to tell me?"
"If you paid more attention to what I say to you, you'd know exactly what I'm saying."
"Oh Poppa," Anastasia laughs from behind him. "Even I can see what Mommy's trying to tell you."
"Then maybe you'd like to enlighten me?"
"It's obvious she doesn't want to say it in front of the children."
"The children!" Collette says, laughing. "What, now that you're engaged, you're better than we are? All grown up? Is that it? She’s trying to tell you that there was a scandal. A woman most likely."
"It was a woman," Annette says seriously.
"And how do you know that?" Baltazzi asks, turning to look at the three of them.
"I read it in one of those French fashion magazines."
"You can read French? I thought you were just looking at the pictures. Did you know they can read French?" he asks the Countess.
"Of course I know. Like I said, if you paid more attention to things that go on around here, you would not be so shocked when I tell you things."
"So, we're going into her house, with the full knowledge that the man staying with her, is what, a womanizer?"
"I wouldn't go as far as saying full knowledge," the Countess smiles.
"And so this man? What's his name?"
"George. And that's exactly what I mean about not listening to me."
"I forgot his name. You only just told me.” Baltazzi sees Johanne smiling out of the corner of his eye. "I should have come out with Hans and the luggage," he says to no one in particular.
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