"Your antiquity is eighteenth-century antiquity. There are many alcoves in it."
"I don't know that the alcove was an invention of the eighteenth century. There were alcoves at all times. But, Doris, good heavens! what are those trees? Never did I see anything so ghastly; they are like ghosts. Not only have they no leaves, but they have no bark nor any twigs; nothing but great white trunks and branches."
"I think they are called plantains."
"That won't do, you are only guessing; I must ask the coachman."
"I think, sir, they are called plantains."
"You only think. Stop and I'll ask those people."
"Sont des plantains, Monsieur."
"Well, I told you so," Doris said, laughing.
Beyond this spectral avenue, on either side of us there were fields, and Doris murmured:
"See how flat the country is, to the very feet of the hills, and the folk working in the fields are pleasant to watch."