“So I came without,” said Andrews, laughing.
“What fun!” cried Genevieve. “But anyway they couldn't do anything to you. Chartres is so near. It's at the gates of Paris.”
They were alone in the compartment. The train had pulled out of the station and was going through suburbs where the trees were in leaf in the gardens, and fruit trees foamed above the red brick walls, among the box-like villas.
“Anyway,” said Andrews, “it was an opportunity not to be missed.”
“That must be one of the most amusing things about being a soldier, avoiding regulations. I wonder whether Damocles didn't really enjoy his sword, don't you think so?”
They laughed.
“But mother was very doubtful about my coming with you this way. She's such a dear, she wants to be very modern and liberal, but she always gets frightened at the last minute. And my aunt will think the world's end has come when we appear.”
They went through some tunnels, and when the train stopped at Sevres, had a glimpse of the Seine valley, where the blue mist made a patina over the soft pea-green of new leaves. Then the train came out on wide plains, full of the glaucous shimmer of young oats and the golden-green of fresh-sprinkled wheat fields, where the mist on the horizon was purplish. The train's shadow, blue, sped along beside them over the grass and fences.
“How beautiful it is to go out of the city this way in the early morning!... Has your aunt a piano?”
“Yes, a very old and tinkly one.”