He hesitated and Mère Guégou examined them with new interest, but Yvonne, with great presence of mind, flew to the rescue.
"We—we are not married yet, Madam," she said flushing adorably. "One day—perhaps—"
"Soon—Madame," put in Philidor, rising to the situation with alacrity.
"We shall be married soon."
Madame Guégou beamed with delight.
"Tiens! C'est joli, ça! Guégou!" she called. "We must kill a chicken and cut some haricots and a lettuce. They shall dine well in Vallécy—these two."
Guégou grinned toothlessly from the doorway of the shed where he was stabling Clarissa, and then hobbled his way up to the garden.
When Mère Guégou went into the kitchen to prepare the dinner, Yvonne and Philidor walked through the garden to a small rustic arbor at the end which looked down over a meadow and a stream.
"I hope the bon Dieu will forgive me that fib," she laughed.
"It was no fib at all." And as her eyes widened, "You merely said that we hadn't been married yet. We haven't you know," he laughed.
Her look passed his face and sought the saffron heavens across which the swallows were wheeling high above the tree tops.