After the breakfast it was the guests’ custom to betake themselves to a little flower garden on a terrace overlooking the plain.  This Sunday afternoon was exquisitely mild.  There had been signs of rain toward ten in the morning, but the sky, without ceasing to be covered, had, as it were, melted into milky fog, which now hung like a cloud of luminous dust in the golden sunlight.  Soon Mme Hugon proposed that they should step down through a little doorway below the terrace and take a walk on foot in the direction of Gumieres and as far as the Choue.  She was fond of walking and, considering her threescore years, was very active.  Besides, all her guests declared that there was no need to drive.  So in a somewhat straggling order they reached the wooden bridge over the river.  Fauchery and Daguenet headed the column with the Muffat ladies and were followed by the count and the marquis, walking on either side of Mme Hugon, while Vandeuvres, looking fashionable and out of his element on the highroad, marched in the rear, smoking a cigar.  M. Venot, now slackening, now hastening his pace, passed smilingly from group to group, as though bent on losing no scrap of conversation.

“To think of poor dear Georges at Orleans!” said Mme Hugon.  “He was anxious to consult old Doctor Tavernier, who never goes out now, on the subject of his sick headaches.  Yes, you were not up, as he went off before seven o’clock.  But it’ll be a change for him all the same.”

She broke off, exclaiming: 

“Why, what’s making them stop on the bridge?”

The fact was the ladies and Fauchery and Daguenet were standing stock-still on the crown of the bridge.  They seemed to be hesitating as though some obstacle or other rendered them uneasy and yet the way lay clear before them.

“Go on!” cried the count.

They never moved and seemed to be watching the approach of something which the rest had not yet observed.  Indeed the road wound considerably and was bordered by a thick screen of poplar trees.  Nevertheless, a dull sound began to grow momentarily louder, and soon there was a noise of wheels, mingled with shouts of laughter and the cracking of whips.  Then suddenly five carriages came into view, driving one behind the other.  They were crowded to bursting, and bright with a galaxy of white, blue and pink costumes.

“What is it?” said Mme Hugon in some surprise.

Then her instinct told her, and she felt indignant at such an untoward invasion of her road.

“Oh, that woman!” she murmured.  “Walk on, pray walk on.  Don’t appear to notice.”