The Genevan Philosopher said no more—an invocation to Nature usually shutting him up. Gilbert looked at Jussieu with envy. If he were arrayed like him, perhaps Andrea would look at him.
An hour after the start, the party reached Bougival, where they alighted and took the Chestnut Walk. On coming in sight of the summerhouse of Luciennes, where Gilbert had been conducted by Mdlle. Chon when he was picked up by her, a poor boy on the highway, he trembled. For he had repaid her succor by fleeing when she had wished to make a buffoon of him as a peer to Countess Dubarry’s black boy, Zamore.
“It is nine o’clock,” observed Dr. Jussieu, “suppose we have breakfast?”
“Where? did you bring eatables in your carriage?”
“No, but I see a kiosk over there where a modest meal may be had. We can herborize as we walk there.”
“Very well, Gilbert may be hungry. What is the name of your inn?”
“The Trap.”
“How queer!”
“The country folks have droll ideas. But it is not an inn; only a shooting-box where the gamekeepers offer hospitality to gentlemen.”
“Of course you know the owner’s name?” said Rousseau, suspicious.