“And I have heard Miss Ethel,” said Yvonne. “She describes it so well!”
“But explain it to me,” grand’mère said.
They gave her an explanation, in all its details, of camping out and summer touring and fishing, of chaperons and boys and girls.
“What!” grand’mère cried, “young men and young girls go camping out like that in the woods for weeks together, simply accompanied by a chaperon, and you consider that proper?”
“Ma foi, yes,” said Mme. Riçois. “I should have been delighted with anything of the kind.”
Yvonne kept silence, but she asked herself what harm there could be in walking through the country with Monsieur Will or Monsieur Phil. Miss Ethel did it—why should not she?
“So that is what you call progress,” grand’mère observed. “Milliardaires making their horses travel by express train and lodging them at the hotel, while they themselves wander along the highroads and sleep out of doors like vagabonds—you must acknowledge it does not sound well!”
“Perhaps you like that kind of thing better,” Mme. Riçois retorted, pointing to the place.
An omnibus was driving up from the station, loaded with trunks and packages, with its horses prancing heavily. A traveler, with a single glass in his eye, was looking out.
The emotion aroused by the auto had scarcely calmed down. People were standing in the place in front of the hotel, which the last of the Rowrers’ horses had just entered. A few curious faces were still to be seen at the windows. The traveler, evidently thinking that all this was in his honor, bowed all around in his satisfaction at their welcome. As he got out of the omnibus at the Lion d’Or, amiable smiles were awaiting him—a politeness which he repaid with a nod, as if to say, “Greatly flattered, believe me!”