“‘Is that your final decision?’ Mme. de Grojean demanded of Yvonne.
“‘It is my final decision,’ said Yvonne.
“‘Come, then, Yvonne, and be happy!’ and the mother pressed her to her bosom.”
“But the grandmother—that terrible grand’mère?”
“Grand’mère kissed Yvonne on the forehead, and said to her, ‘You’ve done well, my child,’—and then I came away. That is all, grandma.”
The evening was creeping over the forest. The high clumps of trees stood out in somber masses against the deep sky. Ethel and grandma had completely forgotten the hunt; but the sound of the horns drew near. The exhausted doe was returning, followed close by the hounds.
“Let us go away; the dew is falling,” grandma said pensively. “Let us go back to the breaks; the hunters will soon be here.”
“Go on alone, grandma; I will wait for them here. I shall return to the château on horseback.”
Ethel remained on the stone bench. When she separated herself from the hunt the branch of a tree in a narrow alley had ruffled her hair. She took off her hat, to put it in order. She was just finishing, when a hunter, who had doubtless left his horse at the rendezvous and seemed to be looking for some one, crossed the glade and passed before her.
“Monsieur Phil!” Ethel said, rising.