Old Joyselle gave his arm once more to his wife,
and between two lines of buzzing admirers conducted her to the carriage,
followed by his famous son, the rest of the family crowding after.
"Pathetic, wasn't it?" asked Theo. "I was so afraid _grand-pere_ would
not behave, but he is rather in awe of father. Did you see my uncles,
Antoine and Guillaume? Come, _petite mere_, let's go on. Our carriage is
waiting at the inn, to save time."
Brigit followed obediently, but her mind was in a whirl. What could be
the matter with Victor?
CHAPTER SEVEN
The garden in the Rue Victor Hugo was full of long narrow tables covered
with snowy cloths and as white china. In the pitiless noonday sun the
display dazzled the eyes. In the middle of every table was a high vase
of yellow flowers, and at intervals down each stood china bowls heaped
with apples and grapes.
A carafe of cider stood at every plate, for Normans are thirsty and
their heads strong.
Brigit stood in an upper window looking down as the crowd assorted
itself and settled down on the benches by the tables. In a few moments
Theo would fetch her and conduct her to the arbour where twelve people
were to be seated; at present he was bustling about making himself
agreeable to everybody, laughing with those few children who, being over
twelve, were present, helping the old or unwieldly to dispose of
themselves comfortably, darting to and fro, looking strangely out of
place among the good people with whom he felt so thoroughly at home.
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