“But the dust?” we objected.

“Ah!” cried Madame, “on oublie toujours le chat dans le coin, as they say in the Morbihan.  Yet there must always be a drawback; you cannot have perfection; and I maintain that dust is better than rain.  But what did you think of le Folgoet, messieurs?”

We declared that we could not give expression to our thoughts and emotions.

“A la bonne heure!  Did I not tell you that we had nothing like it in our neighbourhood—­or in any other, for all I know?  Did I in the least exaggerate?”

We assured Madame that she had undercoloured her picture.  The reality surpassed her ideal description.

“Ah!” cried Madame sentimentally, “our beau-ideals—­when do we ever see them?  But personally I cannot complain.  I have a husband in ten thousand, and that, after all, should be a woman’s beau-ideal, for it is her vocation.  Oh!” with a little scream, pretending not to have heard her husband come up quietly behind her; “you did not hear me paying you compliments behind your back, Eugene?  I assure you I meant the very opposite of what I said.”

“If you are perverse, I shall not take you to the Regatta next Sunday,” threatened Monsieur, in deep tones that very thinly veiled the affection lurking behind them.

“The Regatta!” cried Madame.  “Where should I find the time to go jaunting off to the Regatta?  We have a wedding order to execute for that morning—­my hands will be more than full.  Figurez vous,” turning to us, “a silly old widow is marrying quite a young man.  She is rich, of course; and he has nothing, equally of course.  And what does she expect will be the end of it?  I cannot imagine what these people do with their common sense and their experience of life.  But I always say we gain experience for the benefit of our friends:  it enables us to give excellent advice to others, but we never think of applying it to ourselves.”

“But the Regatta,” we interrupted, more interested in that than in the indiscretions of the widow.  “We knew nothing about it, and thought of leaving you on Saturday.  Is it worth staying for?”

“Distinctly,” replied Madame Hellard.  “All Morlaix turns out for the occasion:  all the world and his wife will be there.  It is quite a pretty scene, and the boats with their white sails look charming.  You must drive down by the river side to the coast, and if the afternoon is sunny and warm, I promise you that you will not regret prolonging your stay with us.”

[Illustration:  INTERIOR OF LE FOLGOET, SHOWING SCREEN.]

This presented a favourable opportunity for a compliment, but at that moment Catherine’s voice was heard in the ascendant; a passage-at-arms seemed to be in full play above; commotion was the order of the moment; and Madame rapidly disappeared to the rescue.  The compliment was lost for ever, but a dead calm was the immediate consequence of her presence.  Catherine’s authority had been defied, and the daring damsel had to be threatened with dismissal if it occurred again.