"Oh, but my flowers know when I water them, and could not bear to have me leave them altogether to others." Then, in explanation to her visitor, "It is an old quarrel between Jeannette and me. Is it not, my friend? Now I am hot and thirsty. Will you bring us some of your good wine, Jeannette?"
They were sitting in a little bower almost covered with roses, and Barbara felt as if she must be in a pretty dream, when the maid came back bearing two slender-stemmed wine-glasses and a musty bottle covered with cobwebs.
"It is very old indeed," madame explained.
"Jeannette and I made it, when we were young, from the walnuts in our garden in Rouen."
Having filled both glasses, she raised her own, and said, with a graceful bow, "Your health, mademoiselle," and after taking a sip she turned to Jeannette, repeating, "Your health, Jeannette." Whereupon the old woman curtsied wonderfully low considering her stiff knees.
Barbara did not like the wine very much, but she would have drunk several glasses to please her hostess, though, fortunately, she was not asked to do so. They had a long talk, and the old lady related many interesting tales about the life in Rouen and in Paris, where she had often been, so that the time sped all too quickly for the girl. When she got home she found two visitors, who were sitting under the trees in the garden waiting to have tea. One was an English girl of about fourteen, whom Barbara thought looked both unhappy and sulky. The other was one of the ladies whose school she was at.
"This is Alice Meynell," Mademoiselle Thérèse said with some fervour, "and, Alice, this is a fellow-countrywoman of your own." But the introduction did not seem to make the girl any happier, and she hardly spoke all tea-time, though Marie did her best to carry on a conversation. When she had returned to work with Mademoiselle Loiré, the business of entertainment fell to Barbara, who proposed a walk round the garden.
At first the visitor did not seem to care for the idea, but when the mistress with her suggested it was too hot to walk about, she immediately jumped up and said there was nothing she would like better. There seemed to be few subjects that interested her; but when, almost in desperation, Barbara asked how she liked France, she suddenly burst forth into speech.
"I hate it," she cried viciously. "I detest it and the people I am with, who never let me out of their sight. 'Spies,' I call them—'spies,' not teachers. They even come with me to church—one of them at least—and I feel as if I were in prison."
"But surely there is no harm in their coming to church with you?" Barbara said. "Besides, in France, you know, they have such strict ideas about chaperones that it's quite natural for them to be careful. Mademoiselle Thérèse goes almost everywhere with me, and I am a good deal older than you are."