It was a perfect wonder that they were not all
exclaiming at their wet feet, and catching cold; but it seems that
dancing on the green and these sort of _fetes champetres_ are national
sports, and you don't catch cold at them. It is only washing, and
having the windows open, and the house aired, and things like that,
that give cold in France. The Vicomte came back with us, and, as he was
one too many for the brake, we had to sit very close on our seat. He
was between the Baronne and Victorine, who made room for him when he
was just going to sit down by me. She kept giggling all the way home,
and the Vicomte looked so squashed and uncomfortable. I was next,
beyond the Baronne, and as both of them could not keep up their
umbrellas, Victorine was obliged to put down hers, and the drips from
the Baronne's umbrella got on to the roses in Victorine's hat. At last
they ran in a red stream right down her nose, and she did look odd, and
each time she said anything to the Vicomte, he nearly had a fit to
keep from laughing, and when we got back and she found how she was
looking she _was_ cross.
The Vicomte took hold of my hand when he helped me out, it wasn't in
saying good-bye, as of course unmarried people only bow and don't shake
hands.
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