"Now we must feed them, the dinner-hunters!" "You will fare very badly," Mme. Derize replied in her quiet voice, "but so much the worse for you." "I have brought a pie with me and some of those little strawberries that you liked from the Chamrousse woods." "Ah, you spoil me." "Just as if we had nothing to give them to eat!" still grumbled the servant, who made no pretense of being logical. This addition to the menu was very welcome. During the meal, Elizabeth realized, with a sense of details which only a woman can recognize, that there was a decrease of the comforts of life. She looked more attentively at Albert's mother and saw a change in her face, which she had not noticed on her arrival. She attributed it to the heat of a long summer, endured without once leaving the town, surrounded by a chain of mountains which seem to focus the rays of the sun on the plain. How wicked she had been in not asking her to come up to Saint Martin, where every year she had enjoyed the good air! Immediately after luncheon, she made the offer which was in her mind. "Mother," she said, "we are going to take you to Uriage." "It is very late now," objected Mme. Derize, who blushed immediately, fearing that her words would be construed as a complaint. But the slight flush did not color her cheeks very long. She added: "I mean to say that the season is already well advanced." "We have still part of September and October. Autumn often has many fine days. The church is only a few steps from the house. You will have the children. Come, I beg of you." Fanchette, who was clearing away the table, was still a victim of contradictory emotions, and rattled her dishes. They might have asked madame before, but a stay in the mountains would still do her good. Mme. Derize, somewhat surprised at so much insistence, was looking kindly at her daughter-in-law. She asked herself to what this unexpected manifestation was due. Had she been right to entrust Albert's books to the care of Philippe Lagier to be given to his young wife? She had blamed her initiative very much. She had often been remorseful and somewhat afraid. Could her mind be at ease, and did she even see a light in the dark future? "I shall be very pleased to join you," she finally accepted. "No, no. This is a kidnapping. We are going to carry you off with us this evening." Like weak, shy people, Elizabeth manifested a nervous obstinacy. With an uncertain will, one seeks only immediate results. "Well, let us make up our bundles," answered the old lady almost gayly, understanding that state of mind.