Only I have a great fancy not to be more than a day's journey from England." "In which I sympathize with you.

It will be very much more satisfactory to me to know that you are within a reasonable distance of us." Lucia sat and listened very contentedly to the talk of the elder people.
To her, whose only experience of relationship, beyond her mother, was painful and mortifying, there was something she had not anticipated of novelty and comfort in this new state of affairs.

Her cousin's tone of kinsmanship and friendliness was so genuine and unforced that she and her mother both accepted it naturally, and forgot for the moment that, to a little-minded man, such friendliness might have been difficult and perhaps impossible.
They decided to start for Paris next morning, Mr.Wynter saying that he had arranged for a week's absence from England, and therefore would have plenty of time to see them fixed in their new residence before he left.
Then the conversation glided to other subjects, and Lucia losing her interest in it, began to wonder where Percy was--whether they were again on the same continent--whether he would hear, through the Bellairs, of their movements--whether he thought of her.

And from that point she went off in some indescribable maze of dreams, recollections, and wishes, through which there came, as if from a distance, the sound of voices talking about England--about Chester--about her mother's old home and old friends--and about her young cousins, the Wynters, and a visit they were to make to France when spring should have set in.
In the midst of all, the sound of a great clock striking broke the stillness of the snowy streets, and, just after, a party of men passed, singing a clamorous French song, and stamping an accompaniment with their heavy shoes.

Lucia smiled as she listened, and then sighed.