But an authority on this last subject now emerged from the wicket-gate which opened from the neighbouring house. Madame ---- had taken Thérèse to Alsace after her return from Birmingham, and had taught her to speak German there. Madame had lived in Alsace three years before, and spoke German very well indeed. She related in German her dream-message of the night before, that fixed the duration of the War unquestionably at three months more. This subconscious conviction was so conclusive for her that she would take bets all round. Thérèse staked all her ready cash. No doubt she will collect about Christmas-tide. We all went on to tea spread in the orchard, and spread with an unerring French sense of fitness: such a meal, that is, as would be spread in the orchard but not in the house--French rolls and dairy butter, and _confiture de groseille_ made from the red currants of the last season, fruit and cream, Normandy cake, cherries, wafers, and _cidre_ sparkling like champagne, bearing no relationship whatever to the flat, insipid green-and-yellow fluid of the Rouennaise hotels. There was no dulness at table. French conversation flows easily and unintermittently. There were tussles to decide whether Thérèse should or should not help herself first. The English custom of "ladies first" is looked on as rather stupid, with its implied inferiority of women: "But you will not beat me! _Mais oui!_ but you are very obstinate!" And she would not be beaten; for she said she didn't like Normandy cake (though she adored it), and helped herself generously when it had been round, and proclaimed her victory over English convention with a little ripple of triumph. _Après vous_ became a mirth-provoking password. All the pets came round the table--the fowls (to whom I was introduced singly; they all have their names); _Mistigri_ the cat, _Henri_ the goose, the pigeons, the pug, the terrier. All these you are expected to make remarks to, on introduction, as to regular members of the family--which they are, in effect: "_Bon jour, Henri! Comment allez-vous? Parlez-vous anglais? Voulez-vous vous asseoir?_" When these introductions are over, M. Duthois brings forth his tiny bottle of 1875--the cognac he delights in. Thérèse proposes a walk. Shall it be down by the river or through the village? "_Both_," you say. So we go by the river and return by the hamlet.