The day is breezy and not too warm. We feel few ambitions. Has the dreamy spirit of the South come upon us so soon?
It will be a perfect spot for a picnic lunch.
We will imitate the fête champêtre of Charles and Catherine held on the isle of the Adour. The ladies give their sanction, and three of us are promptly appointed commissaries. We take the path down to the street, and find a promising little grocery-store. The madame bows a welcome.
"Can one obtain here of the bread?" we ask.
"Ah, no," deprecatingly, "that is only with the baker."
"A little of cheese, then? and some Albert biscuits? And a bottle or two of lemonade, and one of light wine?"
"But yes, without doubt; monsieur shall have these instantly;" and a bright-faced little girl proceeds to collect the supplies.
"Might one carry away the bottles, and afterward return them?" we venture.
Here the madame begins to appear suspicious. It is evidently an irregular purchase at best, and this request seems to make her a trifle frosty.
"A deposit should perhaps be necessary," we suggest; "how much is desired?"