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Servigny took care to shelter what she bore to her mouth, to guard her glass, to hold his handkerchief stretched out over her head like a roof. But the Marquise, disgusted, became nervous, and the end of the dinner came quickly. Yvette, who had not forgotten Servigny's proposition, said to him: "Now we'll go to the island."
Sometimes nodding but never asleep, she had too much natural astuteness to be deceived a minute about Servigny's intentions, for she knew men by experience, and especially men of that set. So at the first words uttered by Yvette, she had cried almost in spite of herself: "Servigny, marry you? You are crazy!" How had he come to employ that old method, he, that sharp man of the world?
A collegian, wanting to show off, rowed like a windmill against all the other boats, bringing the curses of their oarsmen down upon his head, and disappearing in dismay after almost drowning two swimmers, followed by the shouts of the crowd thronging in the great floating cafe. Yvette, radiantly happy, taking Servigny's arm, went into the midst of this noisy mob.
She was not at all astonished at this deed, and she looked at Servigny, who had come to her side she knew not how. He was fishing also, and drew out of the river a wooden horse. Then she had anew the feeling of awaking, and she heard some one calling down stairs. Her mother had said: "Put out the candle." Then Servigny's voice rose, clear and jesting: "Put out your candle, Mam'zelle Yvette."
A softened gaiety filled their hearts, they felt that it would be so delightful to dine there in the country, with that great river and that twilight for a setting, breathing that pure and fragrant air. The Marquise had taken Saval's arm, and Yvette, Servigny's. The four were alone by themselves. The two women seemed entirely different persons from what they were at Paris, especially Yvette.