The little misunderstanding resulted in all three being in the best of humours when they stopped in front of Mary's house. Alice and Frans Röy drove on without her. Frans turned blissfully to Alice and asked if he had not been a good boy to-day? if he had not kept himself well in hand? if his "affair" were not progressing splendidly? He did not wait for her answer; he laughed and chattered; and he was determined to go in with her. But this Alice had no intention of allowing. Then he demanded, as his reward for not persisting, that she should take them both for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne, in the direction of La Bagatelle. It was to be in the morning, about nine o'clock; then the scent of the trees would be strongest, the song of the birds fullest; and then they would still have the place to themselves. This she promised. On the following Friday she called for Mary before nine in the morning, and they drove on to pick up Frans Röy. From a long way off Alice saw him marching up and down on the pavement. His face and bearing filled her with a presentiment of mischief. Mary could not see him until they stopped. But then a flame rushed into her face, kindled by the fire in his. He boarded the carriage like a captured vessel. Alice hastened to attract his attention in order to avoid an immediate outburst. "How lovely the morning is," she said; "just because the sun is not shining in its full strength! Nothing can be more beautiful than this subdued tone over a scene as full of colour as that towards which we are driving." But Frans did not hear; he understood nothing but Mary. The white veil thrown back over her red hair, the fresh, half open mouth, deprived him of his senses. Alice remarked that the woods had become more fragrant since the Japanese trees had grown up. Each time these flung a wanton puff in among the sober European wood scents, it was as if foreign birds with foreign screams were flying among the trees. Frans Röy at once affirmed that the native birds were thereby inspired with new song. Never had they sung so gloriously as they were singing that morning. Alice's fear of an explosion increased. She tried to avoid it by drawing his attention to the contrasts of colour in wood and meadow and distance. The drive out to La Bagatelle is peculiarly rich in these. But Frans was sitting with his back to the horses; he had to turn away from Mary and Alice every time to see what Alice wanted him to look at. This made him impatient, the more so as Mary and he were each time interrupted in their conversation. "Shall we not rather get out and walk a little?" said he. But Alice was more afraid of this than anything. What might he not take into his head next? "Do look about you!" she exclaimed. "Is it not as if the colours here were singing in chorus?" "Where?" said Frans crossly. "Goodness! Don't you see all the varieties of green in the wood itself? Just look! And then the green of the meadow against these?"