In the middle of the terrace, the stone balustrade of which ran all round the house, Zozé sat dreaming in a wicker armchair. In front of her some opened letters lay on a little table beside the tea tray. "Anything new, dear master?" she asked. "The postman told me he had given you a letter.... Was it from your family?" M. Raindal stammered confused explanations. "Well, then, when will you be leaving?" asked Zozé calmly. He looked at her with a somewhat disappointed expression. "Eh! I am not going, _mon amie_.... Since you are willing, I shall be happy to stay." He glanced to the left, then to the right, and seized Zozé's hand, bending over her. "I, too, have some great news now!" the young woman declared, suppressing a gesture of enervation while M. Raindal completed a heavy kiss. "First of all, I have a telegram from George. He is coming back on September 1st, Monday ... in three days!" "Ah!" M. Raindal said carelessly. "Good! How is he!" "Very well! You may read his telegram.... And then...." "And then?" the master repeated, oppressed with anxiety. "Then? Well, I have received a letter from the Messrs. de Meuze who inform me that they are coming to spend a week at Les Frettes." M. Raindal's lips twisted. He attempted an emphatic objection: "But you assured me...." "Yes, that they would open the shooting season.... They are going to do that, in the Poitou, where it doesn't open until the 12th." "That is different!" murmured the master in a tone of defeat. "When do they arrive?" "Monday, also!" The master drew in his breath and asked, in a firmer voice: "The same day as your husband?" "Yes!" Zozé replied, watching him from the corner of one eye. "That is to say, George will arrive at nine. Uncle Panhias will meet him at the Gare du Nord, and he cannot be here before eleven. The Messrs. de Meuze arrive in the afternoon.... After all, George will be here a few hours later!" "That's right; a few hours later!" M. Raindal repeated, at all hazard. He laid a hand upon his forehead, complaining of a sudden headache. The sun, no doubt ... or his haste in returning. "With your permission, I shall not go out this morning!" he said. "I prefer to rest."