Then, one morning, the mother, grandmother, child, and nurse, a medley of white gowns and light veils, would drive away behind two fast horses toward the sunny lawns and the pleasant shade of the avenues.
At that season Paris was ugly, depopulated; and although Sidonie loved it even in the summer, which heats it like a furnace, it troubled her to think that all the fashion and wealth of Paris were driving by the seashore under their light umbrellas, and would make their outing an excuse for a thousand new inventions, for original styles of the most risque sort, which would permit one to show that one has a pretty ankle and long, curly chestnut hair of one's own.
The seashore bathing resorts! She could not think of them; Risler could not leave Paris.
How about buying a country house?
They had not the means.

To be sure, there was the lover, who would have asked nothing better than to gratify this latest whim; but a country house cannot be concealed like a bracelet or a shawl.

The husband must be induced to accept it.

That was not an easy matter; however, they might venture to try it with Risler.
To pave the way, she talked to him incessantly about a little nook in the country, not too expensive, very near Paris.

Risler listened with a smile.