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"Bah!" said he, "you are crazy one must study to cook; besides, you are not yet eighteen, the Père Bourron has yet the right to you for a year." "That is true," confessed the girl simply; "one has not much chance when one is an orphan. Listen, Jean." "What?" "Listen is it true that thou dost love me?" "Surely," he replied with an easy laugh.
Too many Englishwomen spend the greater portion of the day in what is no longer a delicate art, but mere time-killing, after the manner of patience, games of cards and similar pastimes. Bourron is a most orderly village; within its precincts liberty is not allowed to degenerate into licence.
Another half hour's stroll and we find ourselves in an atmosphere of art, fashion and sociability. Only a mile either of woodland, field path or high road separates Bourron from its more populous and highly popular neighbour, Marlotte. Here every house has an artist's north window, the road is alive with motor cars, you can even buy a newspaper!
He thought he spoke English, and though this was not so, yet the friendly blink of his Breton-blue eyes and his encouraging smile gave to his: "Bourron? Mais oui dix heures vingt. Par ici, Meess. Je m'occuperai de vous. Et des bagages aussi all right," quite the ring of one's mother tongue. He handed it to her through the carriage window. "Pour egayer le voyage de Meess.
Yvonne would sigh as she seated herself again in the wire-grass, tucking her firm bronzed legs under a patched skirt that had once served as a winter petticoat for the Mère Bourron.
My first Sunday at Bourron, on this third visit, was of perfect stillness, unclouded brilliance and southern languor, heralding, so we fondly imagined, the very morrow for an excursion.
Rheumatism! he would cry, on some malapert interruption, 'O, yes, I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That could hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the place stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest; plenty of ozone there, you would say.
Achères and Recloses still wait a pioneer; Bourron is out of the question, being merely Grez over again, without the river, the bridge, or the beauty; and of all the possible places on the western side, Marlotte alone remains to be discussed. I scarcely know Marlotte, and, very likely for that reason, am not much in love with it. It seems a glaring and unsightly hamlet.
Marlotte possesses a big, I should say comfortable, hotel, is very cosmopolitan and very pretty. Anglo-French households here, as at Bourron, favour Anglo-French relations. In Marlotte drawing-rooms we are in France, but always with a pleasant reminder of England and of true English hospitality. BOURRON continued. I will now say something about my numerous acquaintances at Bourron.
All honour then to the aediles of dear little Bourron! BOURRON continued. Forty thousand acres of woodland at one's doors would seem a fact sufficiently suggestive; to particularize the attractions of Bourron after this statement were surely supererogation.
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