The table was spread under a trellis covered with honeysuckle. There were biscuits and preserves, fruits, cool water, liqueurs and wine and beer—all set out in perfect taste.
Yvonne served every one.
“Did you prepare all this yourself?” Ethel asked, in wonder. “And you also found time to adorn the table with flowers—you are a real fairy!”
A balustrade, over which ivy was growing, separated them from the river. On the other side of the water there spread out a vast plain, in which factory-chimneys were smoking.
“Only look at the contrast!” Ethel said, pointing to the plain across the river. “You would say it was America; while here, in this old garden, surrounded by walls, with Yvonne beside her flower-beds and all these savory fruits and beautiful golden grapes on their palings, I seem to be looking at old France!”
“Here’s to France!” Will said, lifting his glass, full of clear water.
“To America!” Yvonne replied, pouring out for herself a little white wine.
“To our alliance!” said the alert and dimpling Mme. Riçois, as she tossed down her glass of champagne, while the rest of the party, including grandma and grand’mère, gaily attacked the cakes and fruits.
“It’s understood, then, isn’t it, madame?” Ethel said to grand’mère, “we can count on Yvonne for an afternoon, and, if you are willing, we shall go together to see the fair.”
“It is understood,” answered grand’mère; “and we will go into the booths and the circus, too—and you must come also, Mme. Riçois. It will be a fête-day for us!”