"I love to drive.

But I'd rather come back here to lunch and have it by myself in the garden.

Berthe, ask madame if I can't have it served in the little kiosk at the end of the arbor." As soon as she had received a most gracious permission, Joyce began to make a little plan.

It troubled her conscience somewhat, for she felt that she ought to mention it to madame, but she was almost certain that madame would object, and she had set her heart on carrying it out.
"I won't speak about it now," she said to herself, "because I am not _sure_ that I am going to do it.

Mamma would think it was all right, but foreigners are so queer about some things." Uncertain as Joyce may have been about her future actions, as they drove towards town, no sooner had madame and monsieur stepped from the carriage, on the Rue Nationale, than she was perfectly sure.
"Stop at the baker's, Gabriel," she ordered as they turned homeward, then at the big grocery on the corner.