“Well, it's true, I didn't have lunch,” he thought to himself; and he went, out of conscience rather than need, to sit in the guesthouse.
An hour later, he went to the house that Mary had indicated to him and asked for Mrs. Berthauld. The servant who came to open the door for her, a peasant from the village of Batz or the Croisic, because she wore the hat so picturesque of these lands, led him through a beautifully kept small garden, where fruit trees and flowers mingled. At the bottom, sheltered from the westerly winds by two beautiful magnolias, stood a modest but graceful house, all lined with wisteria and ivy.
A door was opened for him and he entered one of these interiors, the secret of which only a few women have. Everything in it reflects order, taste, and honesty. Everything is i
