"On a late bus ... I have gotten into some clothes ... get a lot of rest, turn in early, if you can. I'll come in the morning." He wanted to say it's marvelous, hearing your voice, being in Ermenonville; she was already saying good night, and he heard himself saying good night with woodenness; then the phone went dead in his hand--the crude, dumb thing.
Hardly had he placed the receiver on its hook when the phone rang. Picking it up indifferently, he said:
"Hello."
"Orville, it's you! How nice. Oh, Orville, I'm so glad you are home. When did you get home? I've been trying to get you, but this wretched phone..."
"Hi, Aunt Therèse! I got here an hour or so ago. You sound far off or the connection's bad. Where are you?" He dropped into her kind of French, the kind she had taught him, Ermenonville's patois.
"I'm out in the country about ten or twelve miles, at a horrible, dirty farm. Our car has broken down ... I'm afraid I won't get back till late. Maybe not till tomorrow. Lena and I are here--we're so disappointed not to be home ... to welcome you. Tell Annette to fix a supper. Claude will look after you..."
Therèse's effusiveness annoyed him but he sent his love to Lena and assured them that everything was all right.
" ... Lena's fine ... we got awfully wet because we had the top folded down, and we couldn't get it raised again. Such a muddy road. And then our engine had to act up. Have you seen Jeannette? Have you phoned her?" She was sputtering. Orville remembered her volubility; she went on chatting about nothing, Orville nodding, smiling.
"Their car broke down ... they won't be back until late or tomorrow," he explained to Claude, who was offering a pack of cigarettes. "They're at Placiers."
Bichain nodded.