My companions seemed little interested in these historical associations; they looked at all with that credulous admiration which leaves no room for examination or discussion.  Madeleine read the name written under every piece of workmanship, and her sister answered with an exclamation of wonder.

In this way we reached a little courtyard, where they had thrown away the fragments of some broken china.

Frances perceived a colored saucer almost whole, of which she took possession as a record of the visit she was making; henceforth she would have a specimen of the Sevres china, “which is only made for kings!” I would not undeceive her by telling her that the products of the manufactory are sold all over the world, and that her saucer, before it was cracked, was the same as those that are bought at the shops for sixpence!  Why should I destroy the illusions of her humble existence?  Are we to break down the hedge-flowers that perfume our paths?  Things are oftenest nothing in themselves; the thoughts we attach to them alone give them value.  To rectify innocent mistakes, in order to recover some useless reality, is to be like those learned men who will see nothing in a plant but the chemical elements of which it is composed.

On leaving the manufactory, the two sisters, who had taken possession of me with the freedom of artlessness, invited me to share the luncheon they had brought with them.  I declined at first, but they insisted with so much good-nature, that I feared to pain them, and with some awkwardness gave way.

We had only to look for a convenient spot.  I led them up the hill, and we found a plot of grass enamelled with daisies, and shaded by two walnut-trees.

Madeleine could not contain herself for joy.  All her life she had dreamed of a dinner out on the grass!  While helping her sister to take the provisions from the basket, she tells me of all her expeditions into the country that had been planned, and put off.  Frances, on the other hand, was brought up at Montmorency, and before she became an orphan she had often gone back to her nurse’s house.  That which had the attraction of novelty for her sister, had for her the charm of recollection.  She told of the vintage harvests to which her parents had taken her; the rides on Mother Luret’s donkey, that they could not make go to the right without pulling him to the left; the cherry-gathering; and the sails on the lake in the innkeeper’s boat.

These recollections have all the charm and freshness of childhood.  Frances recalls to herself less what she has seen than what she has felt.  While she is talking the cloth is laid, and we sit down under a tree.  Before us winds the valley of Sevres, its many-storied houses abutting upon the gardens and the slopes of the hill; on the other side spreads out the park of St. Cloud, with its magnificent clumps of trees interspersed with meadows; above stretch the heavens like an immense ocean, in which the clouds are sailing!  I look at this beautiful country, and I listen to these good old maids; I admire, and I am interested; and time passes gently on without my perceiving it.