'Ask him, Madame, whether they want to go to the house; I dare say they
have missed their way,' whispered I.
'_Eh bien,_ they will find again. I do not choose to talk to post-boys;
_allons_!'
But I asked the man as we passed, 'Do you want to reach the house?'
By this time he was at the horses' heads, buckling the harness.
'Noa,' he said in a surly tone, smiling oddly on the winkers, but,
recollecting his politeness, he added, 'Noa, thankee, misses, it's what
they calls a picnic; we'll be takin' the road now.'
He was smiling now on a little buckle with which he was engaged.
'Come--nonsense!' whispered Madame sharply in my ear, and she whisked me by
the arm, so we crossed the little stile at the other side.
Our path lay across the warren, which undulates in little hillocks. The sun
was down by this time, blue shadows were stretching round us, colder in the
splendid contrast of the burnished sunset sky.
Descending over these hillocks we saw three figures a little in advance of
us, not far from the path we were tracing. Two were standing smoking and
chatting at intervals: one tall and slim, with a high chimney-pot, worn a
little on one side, and a white great-coat buttoned up to the chin; the
other shorter and stouter, with a dark-coloured wrapper.
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