Madame Nicholas arrived at half-past three. She was a handsome, vivacious little woman, and the Countess visibly brightened when talking to her. Not knowing the neighbours round, Adrienne did not feel much interested in the conversation, for it was entirely about them, and their sayings and doings. She poured out tea for her aunt instead of Pierre, who was thankful to be spared the task, and let her gaze wander over the tree-tops in the distance. Her thoughts were in England, when she suddenly heard an ejaculation from her aunt, and looking up saw a smart car gliding up the avenue. "It is that hateful woman; she has seen us. We cannot get away." In another moment Pierre was conducting a very stout, short woman along the terrace to them. She was dressed in the extreme fashion of the moment. Very tight short skirts from which two enormously fat legs in flesh-coloured stockings appeared. Her shoes with their tiny heels and big buckles seemed unable to contain her feet. Her hat was very small, her face very big, and Adrienne felt a feeling of distaste sweep over her as she saw her. But her face radiated with cheerful good humour. "Ah, Madame," she said, taking the Countess's hand in hers as if she were her dearest friend, "how delighted I am to see you look so well and charmante. And is this your English niece? I have come to make her acquaintance. I said to Henri that I must be one of the first to pay my respects to our English visitor. And how do you like us, Mademoiselle? Do you not find our Château enchanting?" She waved her hand at the old building as she spoke. For a moment her fluent French made Adrienne a little shy of airing her own. The Countess and her friend resumed their seats. Madame Nicholas had only given a stiff little bow to the new-comer, which was returned with an air of affable condescension by the notary's wife. Then Madame Nicholas and the Countess went on talking confidentially to one another, whilst Adrienne was left to entertain Madame Bouverie, who with raised voice made every word of hers audible to the two elder ladies. "You must come and see my flowers. Your poor aunt has not health to garden, and every true gardener knows that it cannot be left to village men or boys. They know all about vegetables, but flowers—bah! They serve them cruelly. If I had this garden—" she gazed over the terrace with a greedy look in her eyes—"I would make a perfect dream of it. Can you not see glowing beds of scarlet and white in front of us, and vases with drooping pink and mauve, and long winding borders of every colour under the sun?" Then Adrienne said rather naughtily: "But I love the cows under the shady trees, and the buttercups and the flowering grass. I think they are so restful and pastoral." Madame Bouverie shrugged her shoulders.