They went slowly down the hill, and came in sight of the “Moulin d’Or.”
“Isn’t it disgusting,” remarked Louise, “how these speculative builders are always spoiling the old inns?”
“I don’t see it’s spoilt,” answered her father petulantly.
“You are ridiculous, papa! Any one can see the inn isn’t half as nice as it was.”
As they approached the forecourt of the inn, a girl came out carrying a pail. She had dark eyes, blue-black hair, and a swinging carriage. Yes, yes, there was no doubt about it. She was the spit and image of her mother.
As she approached she smiled pleasantly, and said:
“Good evening, mesdames; a pleasant journey. Good evening, monsieur.”
The ladies returned a friendly greeting, and Monsieur Roget suddenly turned to the girl and said:
“Is your grandfather alive or dead?”
She continued smiling, and replied: