"Prince Sernine . . . Mme. Ernemont, my grandmother. . . ."
Then she related the incident, and Mme. Ernemont repeated:
"Oh, my darling, how frightened you must have been! . . . I shall never forget your kindness, monsieur, I assure you. . . . But how frightened you must have been, my poor darling!"
"Come, granny, calm yourself, as I am here. . . ."
"Yes, but the fright may have done you harm. . . . One never knows the consequences. . . . Oh, it's horrible! . . ."
They went along a hedge, through which a yard planted with trees, a few shrubs, a playground and a white house were just visible. Behind the house, sheltered by a clump of elder-trees arranged to form a covered walk, was a little gate.
The old lady asked Prince Sernine to come in and led the way to a little drawing-room or parlor. Geneviève asked leave to withdraw for a moment, to go and see her pupils, whose supper-time it was. The prince and Mme. Ernemont remained alone.
The old lady had a sad and a pale face, under her white hair, which ended in two long, loose curls. She was too stout, her walk was heavy and, notwithstanding her appearance and her dress, which was that of a lady, she had something a little vulgar about her; but her eyes were immensely kind.
Prince Sernine went up to her, took her head in his two hands and kissed her on both cheeks:
"Well, old one, and how are you?"