But Rose found the idea amusing; she went in search of food, bringing into the drawing-room every kind of object, down to a bottle of sparkling cider she had discovered in a cupboard.
"Hervart's a boy of twenty-five," said M. Des Boys as he watched his friend helping Rose in her preparations. "I shall go to bed."
"At twenty-five," said Hervart, "one doesn't know what to do with one's life. One has all the trumps in one's hand, but one plays one's cards haphazard, and one loses."
"Does he talk of playing now?" said M. Des Boys, who was half asleep. Rose burst out laughing.
"Are you really going to bed?" asked Mme. Des Boys; she looked tired. "I suppose I must stay here."
But she was soon bored. It was half past twelve. She tried to get her daughter to come.
"Ten minutes more, mother."
"All right, I'll leave you. I shall expect you in ten minutes."
M. Hervart got up.
"I give you ten minutes. Be indulgent with the child. All this fresh air has gone to her head."