At lunch time a very small inn seemed to grow suddenly out of the ground as they turned a bend in the road. It was painted green and seemed a part of the rich August countryside. Neville stopped the horses, climbed down from the box, and bowing, held his hat in his hand, as he spoke to Madame le Pont: “If it is your pleasure, Madame, I think you and the young ladies can find refreshment here. There is a sign which says that meals are served.” Madame and the girls looked out and exclaimed in astonishment: “The old mill!” Neville had opened the coach door while he was speaking and Flambeau and Marie Josephine jumped out. The others followed after a moment, and they all stood in a group looking across at the odd-shaped, mill-like structure that stood a little way back from the road, with its sign, “Food for Travelers,” swaying in the light summer breeze. A year ago it had been just an old mill, grey and gaunt in the midst of its green setting of great oaks. The governess turned to Neville uncertainly. “You are sure that it is wise to come here? It seems odd finding the old mill so unexpectedly!” “Let us stay for déjeuner. Oh, it’s a dear place, as quaint as can be!” put in Denise, and Neville answered: “I think it is wiser than to go to a village inn. I am taking the long route to avoid the villages. That was the order of Madame la Comtesse. There is no real danger, of course, in the villages, but just now Madame felt justly that one cannot be over careful.” Madame le Pont nodded in assent. “We will remain here for déjeuner, Neville.” A tall, dark young woman served them with good soup, an excellent omelette, and some grapes, at a table covered with a clean, white cloth, on the greensward facing the forest. She stayed by while they ate, asking with a curtsy every now and then, if there was anything more that they wished, or anything special that she could procure for them. She was particularly kind to Flambeau, cutting his meat nicely and putting it in a blue saucer by the lunch table. Marie Josephine was so pleased at this that she went up to the woman after they had finished lunch and said: “Flambeau wants to thank you for his déjeuner. He is very tired of the journey and will be glad when we are home at Les Vignes.” The young woman, who had said her name was Paulette, smiled kindly and seemed interested. “Pigeon Valley is indeed beautiful, Little Mademoiselle. The other young ladies, are they your sisters?” “A sister and a cousin and a friend.” Marie Josephine smiled happily at the dark woman who was patting Flambeau’s head. Just at that moment Bertran du Monde came galloping up to the queer mill-inn, with his servant riding behind him. “The young gentleman would be your brother I suppose, little lady?” the woman asked as she turned toward the inn.