De Griers stamped his foot with vexation, and hastened to communicate the tidings to the General. Meanwhile we continued to wheel the old lady along.
“Stop her, stop her,” whispered the General in consternation.
“You had better try and stop her yourself,” I returned—also in a whisper.
“My good mother,” he said as he approached her, “—my good mother, pray let, let—” (his voice was beginning to tremble and sink) “—let us hire a carriage, and go for a drive. Near here there is an enchanting view to be obtained. We-we-we were just coming to invite you to go and see it.”
“Begone with you and your views!” said the Grandmother angrily as she waved him away.
“And there are trees there, and we could have tea under them,” continued the General—now in utter despair.
“Nous boirons du lait, sur l’herbe fraiche,” added De Griers with the snarl almost of a wild beast.
“Du lait, de l’herbe fraiche”—the idyll, the ideal of the Parisian bourgeois—his whole outlook upon “la nature et la verité”!
“Have done with you and your milk!” cried the old lady. “Go and stuff yourself as much as you like, but my stomach simply recoils from the idea. What are you stopping for? I have nothing to say to you.”
“Here we are, Madame,” I announced. “Here is the moneychanger’s office.”