"But three of us will be too many for you," began Jeanne.
"When I have just told you that there are twelve places! Come, now--Grandmamma and I, that makes two, and you three, that makes five; there are seven places over, and no one wants to come."
"Paul, but not Bertrade; that makes six. Neither Jean nor Henry are coming, nor Uncle Alexis either, and Pierrot has got into a scrape. Then there is M. de Clagny, and I thought of offering a place to M. Giraud, so that makes us eight altogether."
Mademoiselle Dubuisson did not speak, and Bijou went on:
"You do not care about spending this evening with us, or, rather, with me, and so you are trying to find a pretext?"
"Oh, no, I am not trying to find anything: besides, since it is all arranged with papa--"
"Yes, it is quite settled. I had invited M. de Bernès, too; but he makes out that he cannot come, because he is going with his friends."
"In the drawing-room just a minute ago. Ah, of course you did not know. He has come to bring the invitation for M. Giraud. Jean wrote to him for it, because M. Giraud wanted to go to the paper-chase, and as there are refreshments offered by the officers to their guests, grandmamma is so scrupulous that she would not take him without an invitation."
"Then M. de Bernès is staying to luncheon, too?"
"No, he has gone again; he is the hare, you know, and the meeting-place is at the cross-roads at three o'clock; it is quite near for us, but for those who come from Pont-sur-Loire, it's a good step."
"At half-past two the carriages, and a quarter past two those who are riding--Do you know--I feel inclined to dress before luncheon, so that I should not have to think any more about it."
"Well, you are ready. Come with me while I dress, will you?"
Jeanne followed Bijou in a docile way, as the latter hurried along the corridors, singing as she went.
"You are always gay," remarked Jeanne, "but this morning it seems to me that you are particularly joyful. What is it that makes you so?"
"Why, nothing! I am delighted about the paper-chase, and the theatre; then, too, it is beautiful weather, the sky is so blue, the flowers so fresh and beautiful, it seems to me delicious to be alive--but that's all!"
"Oh, well, that's something at any rate."