moment, and, no doubt, compared them with the secret unsightliness of her
husband. She had squatted herself on ground, with her legs tucked under
her, after the manner of tailors, and she kept moving about restlessly,
saying that ants were crawling about her somewhere. Monsieur Dufour,
annoyed at the presence of the polite strangers, was trying to find a
comfortable position which he did not, however, succeed in doing, and the
young man with the yellow hair was eating as silently as an ogre.

"It is lovely weather, monsieur," the stout lady said to one of the
boating men. She wished to be friendly because they had given up their
place.

"It is, indeed, madame," he replied. "Do you often go into the country?"

"Oh, only once or twice a year to get a little fresh air. And you,
monsieur?"

"I come and sleep here every night."

"Oh, that must be very nice!"

"Certainly it is, madame." And he gave them such a practical account of
his daily life that it awakened afresh in the hearts of these shopkeepers
who were deprived of the meadows and who longed for country walks, to
that foolish love of nature which they all feel so strongly the whole
year round behind the counter in their shop.

The girl raised her eyes and looked at the oarsman with emotion and
Monsieur Dufour spoke for the first time.