“For that matter,” Mme. Riçois went on, “when I say that they sleep out of doors—”
“Do tell us—you’re laughing at us!”
“No, no! Let me explain. They are going to sleep out of doors, but under tents—camping out, they call it in America. I know all about it. My husband has been in correspondence with the Rowrers and has had all the arrangements to make. The Comtesse de Donjeon asked them to come to her château for the summer. Miss Rowrer simply begged the comtesse to put at her disposal a corner of her estate, the most deserted and the most picturesque. She has taken the part she wished and set up her camp in it. She wanted to have it a surprise, and that is why I kept it a secret. It seems that camping out is delightful and Miss Rowrer intends starting the fashion of it in France.”
“Poor France!” grand’mère exclaimed. “We needed only that! It’s just like the automobiles. I’d rather be dragged about all my life in a cripple’s go-cart than get into one.”
“Not I!” said Yvonne. “I should love going in an auto!”
“Yvonne!” expostulated grand’mère.
Yvonne was silent, but thought, all the same, how delightful it would be to go here and there in the country and live under one’s tent, by the bank of the river, along with Ethel. She listened absently to the remainder of the conversation, and looked far away at the highroad, golden with dust and with the green grass beside it.
Grand’mère took up the discourse.
“What is camping out, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s all very simple,” Mme. Riçois answered. “I have heard my husband talking about it.”