Flambeau rested his nose on the ledge of the coach window and looked out yearningly at a fragrant stretch of green meadow. His eyes followed the sudden flight of birds from the branch of a great poplar as they thundered by it.
At lunch time a very small inn seemed to grow suddenly out of the ground as they turned a bend in the road. It was painted green and seemed a part of the rich August countryside. Neville stopped the horses, climbed down from the box, and bowing, held his hat in his hand, as he spoke to Madame le Pont:
“If it is your pleasure, Madame, I think you and the young ladies can find refreshment here. There is a sign which says that meals are served.”
Madame and the girls looked out and exclaimed in astonishment:
“The old mill!”
Neville had opened the coach door while he was speaking and Flambeau and Marie Josephine jumped out. The others followed after a moment, and they all stood in a group looking across at the odd-shaped, mill-like structure that stood a little way back from the road, with its sign, “Food for Travelers,” swaying in the light summer breeze. A year ago it had been just an old mill, grey and gaunt in the midst of its green setting of great oaks. The governess turned to Neville uncertainly.
“You are sure that it is wise to come here? It seems odd finding the old mill so unexpectedly!”
“Let us stay for déjeuner. Oh, it’s a dear place, as quaint as can be!” put in Denise, and Neville answered:
“I think it is wiser than to go to a village inn. I am taking the long route to avoid the villages. That was the order of Madame la Comtesse. There is no real danger, of course, in the villages, but just now Madame felt justly that one cannot be over careful.”
Madame le Pont nodded in assent. “We will remain here for déjeuner, Neville.”