“No, my dear friend! I could not persuade them.... Besides, I did insist very much.... The sea air is very good for Thérèse.”
“They must hate me! You must admit it!”
M. Raindal blushed and affected to chuckle.
“Well, well! I would not like to say that this departure took place without some objections on both sides.... These two women have their own views ... and I have mine.... You know, they do always coincide.”
Then he added more boastfully:
“However, they are in the habit of respecting my will and, after all, the parting was better than I had feared, despite the regrettable scene which I mentioned briefly to you in Paris.... At all events, here I am.... Is that the only thing that matters?”
There was a pause. Zozé, a sarcastic and thoughtful expression on her face, stood outside the station. A yellow-painted governess carriage, with a bay pony, its mane close-clipped, stood against the curb. Firmin, who stood at the head of the pony, discreetly greeted the master.
“Here, Firmin!” said Mme. Chambannes. “Keep M. Rainda check.... You will look after his luggage and bring it along in the trap I ordered from the livery man.”
She settled herself in the carriage, sitting sidewise, facing the tail of the horse. She took up the reins. The master sat opposite her. Zozé caressed the flanks of the pony with a light touch of her whip. The carriage ran down the inclined station-yard, pitching at the shock of the uneven stones. A few lookers-on stood on the edge of the pavement and smiled half-jeeringly as they watched it go.
In less than fifteen minutes the carriage entered the graveled avenue which led to the front steps of Les Frettes. Trees made a frame on each side of it; suddenly the house appeared. It was a large modern building with white walls broken at two or three windows by brown blinds.