“Not exactly; but they spoke of long life, fortune and health.”
“Well, indeed; I ask nothing further of the good God.”
“Now, my child,” said she to her daughter-in-law, “you who tell a story so well, relate to this good young man the cause of his dreams, and tell him the history of the three young ladies of Ionis.”
I assumed an air of surprise, Madame d’Ionis asked permission to give me the manuscript, that she had only prepared, she said, in order to dispense with going over the same story so often.
Breakfast being over, the dowager went to take her siesta.
“It is too warm to go in the garden at noon,” said Madame d’Ionis, “and still I do not wish you to work at that horrid law suit just after leaving the table. So if you care to visit the interior of the castle, which is quite interesting, I will act as your guide.”
“To accept your proposition is indiscreet and presumptuous,” I answered, “and yet I am dying to do so.”
“Well, don’t die, but come on,” said she, with adorable gayety.
But she added immediately, and quite naturally:
“Come with us, my good Zéphyrine; you will open the doors for us.”