“Women must always have their own way at once, of course,” he said, with a touch of petulance like a child’s. “You might have waited a minute.”
“Ah, forgive me, Léon! If it had been any other time!”
The ruffle had already passed. He smiled gayly.
“Yes, yes, that is what you all say. However, I will own that it is not often you are so unreasonable.”
She flung him a grateful look, and asked, with an effort:
“Have you caught many fish?”
“Only three, and those I gave to old Antoine as he went by. No one can be expected to fish with such a sun shining on the water. Just look at it!”
She looked and shuddered. By way of saying something, she remarked:
“Claire persists that old Antoine is a vaurien.”
“Probably. From what my mother remembers, I suspect his family has been worthless for so many generations as to deserve a reward for consistency, if for nothing else. Claire is dreadfully down upon poor sinners. Must we walk as if a mad dog were at our heels! These bushes scratch. They might as well be trimmed. Do you agree? But you are not attending.”