She lacked a country house.

In her heart she detested the trees, the fields, the country roads that cover you with dust.

"The most dismal things on earth," she used to say.

But Claire Fromont passed the summer at Savigny.

As soon as the first fine days arrived, the trunks were packed and the curtains taken down on the floor below; and a great furniture van, with the little girl's blue bassinet rocking on top, set off for the grandfather's chateau.