The bells broke out several times in the course of the day, and the event served for a week’s talk after it was over.  The projected yacht-voyage had been given up, and the young people travelled in all simplicity, with very little baggage and no attendant except Mrs. Betts.  They went through Normandy until they came to Bayeux, where Madame Fournier was spending the long vacation at the house of her brother the canon, as her custom was.  In the twilight of a hot autumnal evening they went to call upon her.  Lancelot’s watering-can had diffused its final shower, and the oleanders and pomegranates, grateful for the refreshing coolness, were giving out their most delicious odors.  The canon and madame were sipping their cafe noir after dinner, seated in the verandah towards the garden, and Madame Babette, the toil of the day over, was dozing and reposing under the bowery sweet clematis at the end by her own domain.

The elderly people welcomed their young visitors with hospitable warmth.  Two more chairs were brought out and two cups of cafe noir, and the visit was prolonged into the warm harvest moonlight with news of friends and acquaintances.  Bessie heard that the venerable cure of St. Jean’s still presided over his flock at Caen, and occupied the chintz edifice like a shower-bath which was the school-confessional.  Miss Foster was married to a brave fermier, and Bessie was assured that she would not recognize that depressed and neuralgic demoiselle in the stout and prosperous fermiere she had developed into.  Mdlle.  Adelaide was also married; and Louise, that pretty portress, in spite of the raids of the conscription amongst the young men of her pays, had found a shrewd young innkeeper, the only son of a widow, who was so wishful to convert her into madame at the sign of the Croix Rouge that she had consented, and now another Louise, also very pretty, took cautious observation of visitors before admission through the little trap of the wicket in the Rue St. Jean.

Then Madame Fournier inquired with respectful interest concerning her distinguished pupil, Madame Chiverton, of whose splendid marriage in Paris a report had reached her through her nephew.  Was Monsieur Chiverton so very rich? was he so very old and ugly? was he good to his beautiful wife?  Monsieur Chiverton, Bessie believed, was perfectly devoted and submissive to his wife—­he was not handsome nor youthful—­he had great estates and held a conspicuous position.  Madame replied with an air of satisfaction that proud Miss Ada would be in her element then, for she was born to be a grand lady, and her own family was so poor that she was utterly without dot—­else, added madame with some mystery, she might have found a parti in the imperial court:  there had been a brave marshal who was also duke.  Here the amiable old lady checked herself, and said with kind reassurance to the unambitious Bessie, “But, ma cherie, you have chosen well for your happiness.  Your Harry is excellent; you have both such gayety of heart, like us—­not like the English, who are si maussade often.”