‘Oh, that will be delightful!’ cried Ange, who was much more enthusiastically disposed than her sister; ‘and I may have charge of the rest of it, may I not, monsieur—and keep the altar dressed with flowers, as I do for papa on Sundays?’ ‘Anything that Mademoiselle Ange chooses to do, she will find me grateful for,’ replied the Baron. ‘And Mademoiselle Marsh, too, I hope this is not the last time she will honour the château with her presence.’ ‘Oh! I will come when Tessie does,’ I answered, laughing, ‘to blow the bellows, though I have not incurred much gratitude for the exertions I have undergone on her behalf to-day.’ ‘Mademoiselle Lovett says nothing herself,’ remarked De Nesselrode. ‘Because it depends so entirely upon papa,’ replied Tessie, blushing; ‘and he has so many engagements in the parish and otherwise, that I do not know when he may be able to bring us up to the château again.’ And then we all remembered the difficulties that lay in the way of three young, unmarried ladies making any practical use of an organ that stood in the residence of an unprotected bachelor. ‘Papa _must_ bring us up; we will _make_ him!’ exclaimed Ange, as she unceremoniously squatted upon her sleeping father’s knee and kissed him back to consciousness. ‘Papa! wake up! You’ve been asleep a great deal too long—and tell us how soon you will bring us to the château again to play upon this lovely organ.’ ‘Eh! eh! what?’ said Mr. Lovett, as he started up and realised where he was. ‘Why, you little puss! you are enough to frighten a man into a fit. What is it you want? Is it time to go home?’ ‘Pretty nearly, papa, and quite time for you to wake up and make yourself agreeable. Monsieur le Baron says we may practise on his organ every day; but you will have to bring us to the château. Will you come to-morrow again?’ ‘No, no, no! How can I come to-morrow? It is Saturday, and I shall have my sermon to think over and prepare, and a dozen other things to do,’ replied Mr. Lovett, taking the girl’s words seriously. ‘Besides, it is such a hill to climb! My breath is too short to accomplish it often. If you want to run about the château as if it belonged to you, you must get some old woman to chaperon you—Mrs. Carolus, for instance, or Mrs. Petherton.’ ‘Or Miss Markham. I’m sure she is old enough,’ interposed Ange, with a most unusual degree of acrimony for her. ‘Miss Markham is an unmarried lady, my dear: she would be of no more use in satisfying the exigencies of etiquette than yourself. However, we will talk over this scheme later, for it is really time that we were moving homewards now. Baron, we have to thank you for your excellent hospitality, and to hope you will soon give us the opportunity to return it. I shall see you this evening, perhaps, if you have nothing better to do.’