"The little Comtesse, for by the French usages she is also a Comtesse, belongs to _us_, M'sieur Desmond. But we do not wish to be unfair. This is what I propose. Ah, mon Alphonse, I adore thee, yes, hopelessly, incurably, I adore thee to the folly. Sip this iced lemonade, my adoring love, and then listen to the words of a French Comtesse, who knows how exactly to make the words come right, to make the thoughts come quickly, to put the ideas straight. The little one, it seems, belongs both to thee, my adorable Alphonse, and also to the father of this good gentleman from Ireland. Let's divide her, therefore. We have her half the time, and the good Desmond the other half the time, and I begin immediately to make her _dot_. See, my beloved one, see! Is it not sense? The two grandpapas shake hands over the head of the little one." "It seems to me the best idea of all," said the Rev. John Mansfield. Now this man had a wonderfully sweet voice, but while he uttered these words, his heart was like lead within him, for while the two grandfathers claimed the possession of little Margot, she was to him the life of life. She was to him the joy of all joy, but not for the world would he interfere with what he knew was right. He thought of a home no longer joyful, blessed, cheerful, merry, and then he pushed that thought out of sight. He was here to mediate, to arrange. The old Comte gave an impatient sigh. "I tell thee what it is, my good Ninon," he said. "I have not the secret of eternal youth. I must have my little one soon--at once--or behold I die. These limbs grow cold, this heart ceases to beat. M'sieur Desmond, I will have her now--at once--for three months, then your father of the title so high and proud can have her for three months. Is that not fair, will not that suffice?" "It is fair and it must suffice," said Fergus. "Then go, my good M'sieur. Go quickly, I entreat, and return with the _bébé_ to her French home. Will you not go? It will be good for _l'enfant_, the little Comtesse St. Juste. But hold for one moment, the heart and the head get hopelessly mixed. What _dot_ can we settle on her, Ninon, _ma petite_?" "Fifteen hundred thousand francs," replied Ninon without a moment's hesitation, "and when Monsieur the Irishman brings the little Comtesse here, we will have a notary present to sign the agreement, so that on her marriage day she shall be much looked up to, and I myself will arrange the marriage according to the true French style." "We do not want any _dot_ at all," began Fergus in an angry voice, but John Mansfield rose and interrupted him. "We will go home at once and fetch the little one so that you may have three months' joy in her society, M'sieur le Comte," he said. "At the end of that time, I will myself fetch her to spend three months with her Irish grandfather." "That is well," said the Comte; "that is as it ought to be." "How soon then may we expect the little Comtesse Margot?" said the present Comtesse St. Juste.