The motor picnics began again. The Derizes were invited. Elizabeth, not wishing to give her children luxurious habits, refused, quoting the advice of their physician, who advocated walking. She often went into Saint Martin to visit her father and mother, and one day, walking under the shade of the chestnut trees, she met the two young men, who, when they recognized her the previous year, had loudly praised her. Wearing a loose-fitting white flannel dress, which made her look younger, she held Philippe by the hand, while Marie Louise, who had spied some huckleberries, had climbed the hill a few steps behind. They stared at her with that coolness which our manners allow and do not stamp as a proof of bad breeding. Involuntarily the blood mounted to her cheeks. She wished to hurry on, and turned awkwardly to call her daughter. They also turned and slackened their steps. Marie Louise joined her at a gallop to tell her: "You know, Mamma, you are more beautiful than you were last year." "Silly little thing, instead of talking nonsense, it would be better next time if you did not leave me." But the child clung to her idea which she would not give up. "It is not nonsense. Those gentlemen down there said so." "Why did you listen to them?" "Because they were talking about you." "That is no reason." The little girl would not allow herself to be quieted. "There was a dark one and a light one. The dark one talked like this: 'She has lost, she is thinner.' "What have you lost, Mamma? And the light one said: 'She is beautiful.'" "Be quiet," said Elizabeth. "I don't like children who listen to the conversations of passersby."