The moment dessert was finished, a dessert of wild strawberries eaten with a delicious sort of sweet cream cheese, the little boys sprang from their places, and with shrieks of “Ohé! Attrapé!” were chasing each other down the road.
The father broke off an appreciation of Flaubert—the party had come, then, by river, and Croisset, the water-side village, had suggested the theme—to shout his commands, his entreaties, that they should come back. But the children were already sufficiently far off to feign being out of earshot with impunity.
“Very well then, we must follow them,” decided their father dolorously, and West understood his reluctance at having to forego his after-dinner repose, and swallow his calvados at one gulp. “It’s madness to allow them to go off alone like that. For imagine
