He said no more on the subject, but stepped down into the garden, picked up the spade and rake himself, and put them carefully away inside the little conservatory. As he came up to the terrace again his eyes searched every corner of the walks to see if things were tidy there.
'Are you learning your lessons?' he asked, as he passed Serge, who was still poring over his book.
'No, father,' the boy replied; 'this is a book that Abbé Bourrette has lent me. It is an account of the missions in China.'
Mouret stopped short in front of his wife.
'By the way,' said he, 'has anyone been here?'
'No, no one, my dear,' replied Marthe with an appearance of surprise.
He seemed on the point of saying something further, but appeared to change his mind, and continued pacing up and down in silence. Then, going to the steps, he cried out:
'Well, Rose, what about this dinner of yours which is getting burnt to cinders?'
'Oh, indeed! there is nothing ready for you now!' shouted the cook in an angry voice from the other end of the passage. 'Everything is cold. You will have to wait, sir.'
Mouret smiled in silence and winked with his left eye, as he glanced at his wife and children. He seemed to be very much amused by Rose's anger. Then he occupied himself in examining his neighbour's fruit-trees.