"You are simply magnificent! But I called you to give you a scolding, and here I am paying you compliments!" Odette sank carelessly into one of the arm-chairs on the terrace. "My dear child, I am worried about you. Your whole character seems to be changing. Every one is speaking about it. You were always gay and happy until this Winter, while now!--I know you must find it very dull here, of course, but it was your own choice to come. You could have stayed in Paris if you had wished to. Are you listening to me?" "Certainly." "Since you are here, can you not try to be a little more agreeable? You have seemed tired and languid ever since you came home from Pornic, and, what is worse, this ennui seems to be increasing every day. You have not looked in a book for a whole month. In spite of your passion for music, you have not once opened the piano this Winter. It is the same way with your painting. Your only pleasure seems to be to sit by the sea, and stare at it. Of course, it is very fashionable to admire the sea; but I really think you might exert yourself to be a little more entertaining--not with me, of course. Friends of ten years' standing never try to entertain each other--but to your father's friends and mine. Are you listening?" "Certainly." "Forgive me for scolding you. I am giving you not only my own opinion, but that of others as well; Mme. Bricourt, for example. You know that Mme. Bricourt is an authority. She came to call on me yesterday while you were out driving with Paul Frager. She is very fond of you. You need not deny it. She thinks a great deal of you. According to her ideas, the education you have received is a disgrace, and there is no need to add to it by your conduct. You have never been baptized, never been to the communion, and, to tell the truth, you are a regular heathen. You do not even try to conceal it. It is your father's fault, I know. He is an atheist. So much the worse for him and for you. I am not shocked, of course, as I am somewhat advanced in my ideas, you know; but every one is not up to my standard, and many people are horrified." This time Odette did not even reply "Certainly." Leaning back in her chair, she was gazing straight ahead. Far away the Mediterranean was lost to sight in a bank of crimson clouds. To the left lay Carqueirannes; its little houses, clinging to the hill, looked like a flock of black and white sheep. Now and then a group of fishermen could be seen dragging a long wet net across the beach. To the right stretched an immense pine forest, with here and there an oak tree, shining in the warm October sunbeams. Down to the right, between two small pine woods, lay the road leading from Carqueirannes to Canet, crossing the Toulon main highway farther on.