In the distance, opening on a porch surrounded by vases of flowers, was the salon with its long blinds raised.

An American easy-chair, folding-chairs, a small table from which the coffee had not been removed, could be seen near the door.

Within they heard a succession of loud chords on the piano and the murmur of low voices.
"I tell you Sidonie will be surprised," said honest Risler, walking softly on the gravel; "she doesn't expect me until tonight.

She and Madame Dobson are practising together at this moment." Pushing the door open suddenly, he cried from the threshold in his loud, good-natured voice: "Guess whom I've brought." Madame Dobson, who was sitting alone at the piano, jumped up from her stool, and at the farther end of the grand salon Georges and Sidonie rose hastily behind the exotic plants that reared their heads above a table, of whose delicate, slender lines they seemed a prolongation.
"Ah! how you frightened me!" said Sidonie, running to meet Risler.
The flounces of her white peignoir, through which blue ribbons were drawn, like little patches of blue sky among the clouds, rolled in billows over the carpet, and, having already recovered from her embarrassment, she stood very straight, with an affable expression and her everlasting little smile, as she kissed her husband and offered her forehead to Frantz, saying: "Good morning, brother." Risler left them confronting each other, and went up to Fromont Jeune, whom he was greatly surprised to find there.
"What, Chorche, you here?
I supposed you were at Savigny." "Yes, to be sure, but--I came--I thought you stayed at Asnieres Sundays.
I wanted to speak to you on a matter of business." Thereupon, entangling himself in his words, he began to talk hurriedly of an important order.

Sidonie had disappeared after exchanging a few unmeaning words with the impassive Frantz.