"I heard you say to Uncle Jacko that I was not to help _ma belle_ grand'mère any more in the _établissement_. But how do you think she will get on without me? Has she not to take care of _mon bon_ grandpère and is she not providing a _dot_ for me? And _mon_ grandpère does not know anything, and he will not know. Listen! I mean to help _ma belle_ grand'mère. She shall not work for nothing at all--no, she shall not. Uncle Fergus, The Desmond must never, never know and _mon bon_ grandpère of Arles must never know. But why should I not help a little?" "You are a foolish colleen," replied Fergus, patting the little hand which rested on his knee. That was all Margot could get him to say and she went back to her seat at the other side of the carriage feeling terribly disconsolate. Why should she not help people? She liked helping people. It was wrong to oppose her when she was doing right. She felt certain, sure, that it was wrong. Then she gave a quick side glance at Fergus's face and noticed the expression on it--the determination, the quiet resolution to have his own way in spite of _la petite_ Comtesse, or the little pushkeen as she was called in Ireland. At last they arrived. The motor-car met them. They drove to the Château St. Juste. Ah, but was not M. le Comte glad to see his little Margot! His black eyes shone, his cheeks grew pink with emotion. Time seemed not to have stirred since he saw her last. He was lying in his beautiful cool _salon_ with his pillows of down and his thick soft, crimson rug of plush. The good clergyman sat down and began to talk to him. He took Margot on his knee and pressed her close to him. During these precious few minutes he felt that he could indulge in the love and the joy of his heart. But Fergus was determined to have his way. Fergus asked Madame to walk with him in the garden, which was sunny and bright, but which only held some apples, some pears, and such like fruits on the old trees. The peaches had vanished, the bees had gone into their winter quarters. It was never cold at Arles, but the people there thought it cold. Anyhow the bees felt that they might rest from their labours. Madame la Comtesse thought Fergus Desmond very handsome. She adored _mon_ Alphonse, but she enjoyed talking to any handsome man. "Thou hast brought _la petite_ back with you, Monsieur," she said. "I have," he replied. "It is her French grandfather's turn to have her for three months. These partings are sore blows. Madame, I would speak with you." "Ah, but I did think so," replied Madame. "Is not life assuredly of the most miserable unless we speak out our innermost thoughts? Thou hast a weight on thy mind, Monsieur le Desmond."