“Is that so, Mademoiselle Spitfire,” Bertran answered, helping himself to salad as old Martin passed it to him. He spoke good-naturedly.
There was a wide silver candelabra in the center of the table, covered with a gold-colored silk shade. The delicate dishes and the silver flashed in the soft light. Above them the stars twinkled a good evening and a big, round September moon looked down.
“Is there no news of Neville, Martin?” Madame le Pont asked the old butler as he removed the cloth and put some silver dishes of nuts and a green bowl full of purple grapes on the table.
“No news, Madame, but it is early yet to-night,” Martin answered.
“I would not worry so much, Madame. It is bad traveling now and you know Neville may not have been able to get fresh mounts,” Bertran said to the governess with his most grown-up air.
“Do let us talk of something else. I’m so tired of having some one ask every five minutes if there is news of Neville,” Denise said.
Madame le Pont broke a bunch of grapes on her plate and ate one slowly. “We must hope for the best,” she said and they all laughed.
“You always say that Le Pont, darling, you know.” Marie Josephine put her hand caressingly on the governess’s arm as she spoke.
“I threw pennies to the hovel children outside the gates as Denise and I rode through the demesne. It was fun to see them grabbing in the dust for them. One of them, a tall, lanky boy, fairly wallowed in dust! I tell you, Madame, I laughed to see them, and wished I had more pennies for them,” Bertran said to the governess.
“There is no town where they can buy things, but when the bailiff comes to oversee, he will give them bread if they have money, poor things,” Madame le Pont answered.