After the recent excitement at the Conservatoire, following the competition, Esperance was delighted to act upon the Doctor's advice to leave Paris. Doctor Potain had told the philosopher that it was absolutely imperative that his daughter should have two or three months of absolute quiet. He suggested the mountains; but Esperance would have none of them. She loved far horizons and vast plains, but her real choice was the sea. So it was decided that the family should go to their little farm at Belle-Isle-en-Mer. "You must go immediately," the Doctor commanded, "and to begin with you must have two weeks' complete repose, in the sun, in a comfortable reclining chair." Esperance was beside herself with joy. To see the pretty farm again nestling in its circle of tall tamarisks, to dream for hours by the seaside, to breathe the breath of furze and seaweed! The windows of her room overlooked the land on one side, and on the other she had wild ocean, studded with black rocks gleaming under the sea's caresses. Maurice Renaud, Jean Perliez and Genevieve Hardouin were invited by the Darbois to spend their vacation at the farm of Penhouet. Their arrival at the Gare d'Orsay was a complete surprise to Esperance, who threw herself on her father's neck, sobbing with pleasure. He chided her gently, "Daughter, are you going to break your word to the Doctor?" So she at once began to laugh in the midst of her tears. "No, papa dear, only I have not yet begun to keep it. The cure will only commence with my first day in the long chair on the seashore. So you see I can still cry a little in gratitude for all your thoughtfulness." The trip was gay, thanks to Maurice's nonsense. Modern painter, cosmopolitan, elegant, and cultivated gentleman, he could still become frolicsome and frivolous with nonsense in happy company. M. Darbois, ordinarily so quiet, laughed at his antics till the tears came, while Mme. Darbois smiled that pleasant smile that had first long ago appealed to François's heart. As to Mlle. Frahender, the artist's wit fairly made her dizzy. As at Brussels, she soon gave up trying to follow him, for at the moment when she thought she had caught the trend of his humour he had already branched off into another anecdote, this time serious, and her laugh would come too late. So she tried to read the names of the little stations flying past, but the speed of the train was so great that, like Maurice's anecdotes, she only got as far as the first syllable. She closed her eyes and slept. They changed trains at Auray about six in the morning. The young people took charge of the luggage while Maurice went to make sure that the portmanteau with his canvas and paints was securely on the right train. With his mind at rest, he joined them at the little buffet, where they were having shrimps, pink as roses, fresh eggs, coffee and the little cakes of the countryside.