Just as she was turning out of the farmyard, she looked round again at the farmer, who was standing motionless, as though rooted to the spot, with his arms hanging down at his sides.
"Don't forget grandmamma's peaches and pears, Monsieur Lavenue!" she called out.
She then looked at her watch, and found that it was five minutes past eleven. She had plenty of time to return home without hurrying, and then, too, M. Giraud and Pierrot were to meet her, and they were never free until eleven o'clock.
As she passed through a village, she gathered a spray of clematis from the cemetery wall to replace the flowers which she had dropped, and then, when she found herself quite alone, she took out her little looking-glass again, and fluffed her hair up, as it was not curly enough now that the heat had made it limp. At half-past eleven, as she saw no signs of those whom she was expecting, she began to get impatient, and put her horse to a gallop, for Patatras was getting tired, and would keep stopping, and doing his utmost to browse the leaves along the hedges.
Suddenly a serious, almost melancholy, expression came over the girl's pretty, happy-looking face. She was just crossing a meadow, which was skirted by a wood.
"Hallo, Bijou! that's how you cut us, is it?" exclaimed a voice.
She stopped short, looking surprised, and turned back a few steps.
Pierrot and M. Giraud, who had been lying down in the shade, rose from the ground, leaving the long grass marked with their impress.
"Why, you are here already!" she said; "I did not expect to meet you so far away from home; at what time did you start, then?"
"A little before the hour," answered Pierrot; and then he added slily, winking at his tutor: "M'sieu' Giraud was a brick; he let me off a bit earlier—without me begging much, either—and now, if we want to be at Bracieux at twelve o'clock, we shall have to put our best feet first!"