“Would you like to go in there for a little chat before we part?”
“It is a good idea!” Mme. Chambannes said. “These lovely squares are delightful.”
The garden consisted of a tiny little lawn surrounded by four green benches carved to imitate the antique. They sat on one of them opposite the Pavilion Denon. In front of the latter a row of statues was placed at regular intervals, isolated and alike in their equalizing marble costumes. No other eyes but their lifeless ones looked upon the square.
“Ther no crowd here!” Mme. Chambannes remarked. Then she pointed to the statues with her sunshade, and added: “And to think that you will be like this one day, dear master!”
“Nothing is less assured, madame,” M. Raindal replied modestly.
“But I, where shall I be then?” Zozé went on gravely.
“O, what ugly thoughts!... Was it your stay at Les Frettes which made you so gloomy?”
“No, it was not that, since, to tell the truth, Zozé had enjoyed herself very much there. Nature and solitude had made her feel better; had helped her to recuperate from Paris! For, in truth, what woman was there who did not sometimes grow weary of Paris? What woman does not in the end become satiated with visits, gossip, theaters, dress-makers, and the whole worldly surfeit of activity?... The country, with one or two good friends, like M. Raindal for instance, the rest, the fresh air cure, such seemed to be for the present Mme. Chambannes’ ideal dream. And if she had returned, it was because....”
“Excuse me,” the master interrupted. “Why did you leave?... Perhaps I am indiscreet in reminding you of your promise....”
“No, not at all....”