Caroline remembered that she had, and laughed. "You're very far-sighted, darling," she said.
"Well, I do keep my eyes open," said Barbara. "I know I'm a jeune fille, and all that sort of thing, but I'm not a jeune fool. I suppose Louise wasn't married to that posturing poopstick?"
Caroline did not reply to this question. "It was rather too sad," she said, "though the music was lovely. I think I should have stuck to the nice old father if I'd been Louise."
"I'm quite sure I should," said Barbara. "I think the whole business is awful tommy-rot."
Caroline imagined her to be commenting upon the emotions and attractions of love, and left it there.
The next day they motored out to Versailles, lunched there, and saw the fountains play, and the crowds. On their way back they had tea at a restaurant in the Bois, and saw more crowds. In the evening they went out to the Parc Montsouris, on the very outskirts of Paris, and dined there in the open.
"Food and people," said Barbara. "Food and people all the time. Now I know what Paris really means."
The little restaurant on the edge of the Parc Montsouris is not very widely known, and the park itself is right away from everywhere. There were half a dozen tables laid on the verandah, and some people already dining there. But they were not of the highest fashion, which forsakes Paris in the month of August.
They went to feed the ducks by the lake, while their dinner was being prepared. As they came back a man and a woman came out on to the verandah with the patron in deferential attendance. The man was in evening dress, and the woman beautifully gowned. It was she who was doing the talking, in the most voluble of Parisian French, while the patron was shrugging his shoulders and answering her with a sly, quick manner, apparently annoying to her, but amusing to her companion.
He had his back half turned towards the Graftons, but as they approached the verandah he moved. It was Lassigny, and he saw them as plainly as they all saw him.