She beckoned the old servant to her side.
“There it is, Jacques! I see distinctly the cottage, a little mass of green against the shadows of the pines. And surely there is smoke from the chimney! My father is an early riser; already up and cooking his breakfast. Is it not so, Jacques?”
“Yes, I do not doubt Monsieur le Duc cooks his breakfast at this moment.”
“What enormous trees!” she went on. “Beautiful, beautiful! And they stretch away 187forever. An ocean of pines! I had forgotten they were so tall–so gigantic. How many minutes now, Jacques, before we arrive?”
Jacques frowned and shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I shall not tell you.”
“Wicked old man!”
And again, through her glass, she studied the coast.
He had carried this lady in his arms before she could walk; he had superintended, in a way, her childhood; and so, like many old servants in France, he was not expected to bear in mind, at all times, certain differences in birth.
With a fresh enthusiasm she exclaimed: “And there, down below, to the right, is the little beach–the ravishing little beach! How I loved it! Here, take the glasses, Jacques, and regard it.”
Jacques regarded. “Yes, it is a good beach.”