"That is just the way," she said. "I am never allowed much time for rest. You would not believe how many people seek me to obtain my advice. I will return in a few minutes and finish my story."
When she had gone, Barbara looked longingly at the couch. It was such a hot day, and the lesson had been a long one; but she was afraid it was not much good to settle down with the promise of the story hanging over her head. The result proved she was right, for very soon Mademoiselle Thérèse came hurrying back again, full of smiles and importance. The landlady of the inn, Au Jacques Cartier, wished her to go there, she said, to act as interpreter between herself and an Englishman, who could speak hardly any French. Would Barbara like to come too?
Thinking it might be entertaining, Barbara got ready hastily and ran down to join Mademoiselle Thérèse and the landlady, who had come in person "to better make clear matters."
"This Englishman and his son," she explained, as they went along, "have only been with us a day or two, but already we wish them to go, yet cannot make them understand. Of course, I do not wish to hurt his feelings, but now, in August, I could let the room twice over to people who would be much less trouble, and whom the other guests would like better."
"But what is wrong with these?" asked Mademoiselle Thérèse critically. "I must know all the affair or I cannot act in it."
She drew herself up very straight, and Barbara wondered if she were thinking of Portia in the Merchant of Venice.
"Well, this gentleman asked for a 'bath every morning,'" the landlady replied in an injured tone, "and after we procured for him a nice little washing-tub, with much trouble, he said it was too small."
"That is not sufficient reason to send him away;" and Mademoiselle Thérèse shook her head.
"No. But then he cannot understand what goes on at table d'hôte, and he and his son are such silent companions that it casts a gloom over the rest. Of course," with an apologetic glance at Barbara, "some Englishmen are very nice to have; but this one"—she shook her head as if the matter were quite beyond her—"this one I do not like, and perhaps without hurting his feelings, you, mademoiselle, could make quite clear to him that he must go."
By this time they had arrived at the hotel, which was close to the Rosalba Bathing Place, and overlooked that little bay. Barbara, thinking the interview would be a delicate one, and that she would but add to the unpleasantness of the situation, said she would wait in the orchard till she was called.