“Ah! how insatiable for pleasure young people are nowadays! As if birds and flowers in the garden were not enough! Soon we shall have girls playing like boys; they will talk of the theater and sport, of tennis and bicycles—horror!”
Yvonne, gay as usual, and without any expression of bitterness, spoke low with her grandmother.
“Grand’mère, what if I should prepare a light collation for our visitors?”
“You are right, my child,” said grand’mère; “here is the key of the preserve pantry.”
Every one was now talking. A visitor had just made her appearance—Mme. Riçois, the banker’s wife, alert and dimpling, as usual. Phil, Will, and Mme. de Grojean talked pleasantly together. Caracal, with an air of great importance, talked of bric-à-brac to Mme. Riçois. Grand’mère and grandma made peace together. They found an admirable common ground of interest. Grand’mère showed grandma, who looked at them like a connoisseur, the photographs of her grandchildren, boys and girls, and grand-nephews and -nieces. Grandma gave grand’mère a recipe for home-made pie.
“The collation is ready,” Yvonne said, as she opened from without one of the long windows on the terrace. Her joyful voice sounded through the salon as the floods of light came in with the perfume of mignonette and roses.
“Grand’mère,” Yvonne went on, “I have spread the collation under the arbor by the waterside. Is that right?”
“You have done well, my child,” said grand’mère.
Mlle. Yvonne smiled with pride, like a soldier receiving his general’s compliment. Without any more ado, they all crossed the terrace and went down into the garden. It stretched out with straight alleys bordered by cut box; and at each side thick trees isolated it from the rest of the world. In the center there was a little basin of rockwork. At the bottom of the garden, along the riverside, a trellis-work formed a shady arbor—a nook of dainty freshness. As they went down to it Yvonne threw bread-crumbs to the goldfish in the basin, and then showed her flower-borders, in which the blue and white and red blossoms were like a tricolor flag.
“I water them myself,” said Yvonne.