“Your servant, gentlemen. Make yourselves at home. As for me, I shall sit down; I am worn out.”
The farmer offered to get some refreshment for the entire party.
“Not now,” said she; “I am too hot.”
Pécuchet consented, and disappeared into the cellar with Père Gouy, Marianne and Victor.
Bouvard sat down on the grass beside Madame Bordin.
He received the annual payment punctually; he had nothing to complain of; and he wished for nothing more.
The bright sunshine lighted up her profile. One of her black head-bands had come loose, and the little curls behind her neck clung to her brown skin, moistened with perspiration. With each breath her bosom heaved. The smell of the grass mingled with the odour of her solid flesh, and Bouvard felt a revival of his attachment, which filled him with joy. Then he complimented her about her property.
She was greatly charmed with it; and she told him about her plans. In order to enlarge the farmyard, she intended to take down the upper bank.
Victorine was at that moment climbing up the slopes, and gathering primroses, hyacinths, and violets, without being afraid of an old horse that was browsing on the grass at her feet.
“Isn’t she pretty?” said Bouvard.