She picked up dead branches in the paths, scratched the moss from the benches with the end of her umbrella, and would have liked to dust the leaves and sweep down the old trees; and often, when in the train, she looked with envy at the little villas standing in a line along the track, white and clean, with their gleaming utensils, the pewter ball, and the little oblong gardens, which resemble drawers in a bureau.

Those were her ideal of a country-house.
M.Fromont, who came only occasionally and was always absorbed by his business affairs, enjoyed Savigny little more than she.

Claire alone felt really at home in that lovely park.

She was familiar with its smallest shrub.

Being obliged to provide her own amusements, like all only children, she had become attached to certain walks, watched the flowers bloom, had her favorite path, her favorite tree, her favorite bench for reading.