“Why, my dear, you don’t mean that you have fruit trees in your garden?” cried the petite-maîtresse; “why, that’s the worst possible form; you must take them all away and set out in their place ebony-trees, acacias, and sycamores.”
“Oh! our garden makes no pretensions,” rejoined Madame Destival, biting her lips with anger; “it isn’t a park such as you have on your place, and Monsieur Destival is very fond of fruit.”
“He is quite right,” said Monin, who had walked nearer to the plum tree when Madame de la Thomassinière spoke of taking it up. “Fruit is the body’s friend when it’s good and ripe. But I was just going to say——”
“And monsieur’s plums!” continued the younger woman. “Dear, dear! they are very vulgar; they should be left for the servants.”
“Oh! when Monsieur Destival has made a fortune, then we will have a separate orchard; but meanwhile we are simple enough to be content with a small country place. What would you have? We were not born in a palace—in the lap of grandeur.”
Madame Destival uttered these last words with malicious emphasis; but Madame de la Thomassinière seemed to pay no heed to them; as hare-brained as she was inconsequent, she said offensive things unintentionally; and if she talked constantly of her dresses, her diamonds and her estate, it was less from vanity than as a matter of habit, whereas the wish to make a show of his wealth was the motive behind every act of her husband.
“Luncheon is waiting, mesdames,” said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward gallantly to offer his arm to the petite-maîtresse; “come; it is late, and you must be hungry. Faith, if Dalville comes, he will have to eat alone, that’s all there is about it.”
The master of the house walked away with the young woman. Monsieur Monin had taken off his hat and was about to offer Madame Destival his arm; but she, divining his purpose, vanished by another path, and the little man, having lost sight of her, decided to betake himself alone to the dining-room; but first he cast a last tender glance at the plum tree.
They were seated at the table, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière was still in the study.
“Tell him that we are going to have luncheon,” said Monsieur Destival, “and that we’re only waiting for him.”