the bundle of heather which Rose was balancing on her knee, their hands met for an instant.
Mme Des Boys was waiting for them, rather anxiously. She kissed her daughter almost frenziedly. Enervated, Rose burst out laughing, said she wanted something to drink and, having drunk, expressed a wish for food.
"That's it," said M. Hervart. "Let's have supper."
He checked himself:
"I was only joking; I'm not in the least hungry."
But Rose found the idea amusing; she went in search of food, bringing into the drawing-room every kind of object, down to a bottle of sparkling cider she had discovered in a cupboard.
"Hervart's a boy of twenty-five," said M. Des Boys, as he watched his friend helping Rose in her preparations. "I shall go to bed."
"At twenty-five," said Hervart, "one doesn't know what to do with one's life. One has all the trumps in one's hand, but one plays one's cards at haphazard, and one loses."
"Does he talk of playing, now?" said M. Des
