They had time to notice the fine grass which grew between the stones of the walk and the foot of the wall, and the old escutcheon carved above the door.
“It is the Grojeans’ coat of arms,” Ethel explained in a low voice. “They belonged to the old noblesse de robe. One grandfather was a presiding judge, another was a chancellor.”
Just then the noise of the bolt was heard, the heavy door opened, and Mlle. de Grojean welcomed them on the threshold.
“I am delighted! What a pleasant surprise! You must excuse me for receiving you as I am. The servants have gone out and I was at work.”
“But you are charming as you are!” answered Ethel.
Mlle. Yvonne was certainly very pretty in her bib and apron, with her graceful neck issuing from the wide white collar, and her refined head, with its hair rolled like a helmet above it.
“Do come in!” she exclaimed.
The hallway, paved with marble, and with its lofty ceiling, surprised them by its coolness. To right and left there were double doors. At one side rose a great stone staircase with an iron railing and without carpet. On the wall there were a few old pictures, and these, with two benches of the time of Charles X, formed the furniture of the hall. At the foot, through a glass door, there was a view on a terrace leading down to the garden.
“Grand’mère, here are my Paris friends,” Mlle. Yvonne said, as she brought the party into the salon: “Mme. Rowrer, Miss Rowrer, Monsieur William, Monsieur Phil Longwill.”
Caracal kept himself to one side, smiling as if it were understood that he, a celebrated man, was superior to these poor children of the soil.