M. Des Boys resolved to have a cascade at Robinvast. It was a pity that he had nothing better than a stream at his disposal. They returned by La Pernelle, from which one can see all the eastern part of the Hague, from Gatteville to St. Marcouf, a great sheet of emerald green, bordered, far away by a ribbon of blue sea. They made a halt. Rose picked some heather, with which she filled M. Hervart's arms. The eagerness of the air lit up her eyes, fired her cheeks. "Isn't it lovely, my country?" A cloud hid the sun. Colour paled away from the scene; a shadow walked across the sea, quenching its brilliance; but southward, towards the isles of St. Marcouf, it was still bright. "A sad thought crossing the brow of the sea," said M. Hervart. "But look...." Everything had suddenly lit up once again. Rose blew kisses into space. They had to go back towards St. Vast, where they had hired the carriage. Thence, traveling by the little railway which follows the sea for a space before it turns inland under the apple trees, they arrived at Valognes. They dined at the St. Michel hotel. M. Des Boys was bored; he had begun to find the excursion rather too long. But there were still a lot of fine buildings to be looked at, Fontenay, Flamanville.... However, those didn't mean such long journeys. "We have still got to go," said he, "to Barnavast, Richemont, the Hermitage and Pannelier. That can be done in one afternoon." They did not get back to Robinvast till very late. The darkness in the carriage gave M. Hervart his opportunity; his leg came into contact with Rose's; under pretext of steadying the bundle of heather which Rose was balancing on her knee, their hands met for an instant. Mme. Des Boys was waiting for them, rather anxiously. She kissed her daughter almost frenziedly. Enervated, Rose burst out laughing, said she wanted something to drink and, having drunk expressed a wish for food. "That's it," said M. Hervart. "Let's have supper." He checked himself: "I was only joking; I'm not in the least hungry." But Rose found the idea amusing; she went in search of food, bringing into the drawing-room every kind of object, down to a bottle of sparkling cider she had discovered in a cupboard. "Hervart's a boy of twenty-five," said M. Des Boys as he watched his friend helping Rose in her preparations. "I shall go to bed." "At twenty-five," said Hervart, "one doesn't know what to do with one's life. One has all the trumps in one's hand, but one plays one's cards haphazard, and one loses." "Does he talk of playing now?" said M. Des Boys, who was half asleep. Rose burst out laughing. "Are you really going to bed?" asked Mme. Des Boys; she looked tired. "I suppose I must stay here." But she was soon bored. It was half past twelve. She tried to get her daughter to come. "Ten minutes more, mother." "All right, I'll leave you. I shall expect you in ten minutes." M. Hervart got up.