"Within a week from now," said Fergus firmly. "Ah, then, I must be preparing her little wardrobe. Think of that, my adorable Alphonse. The wardrobe of thy little Comtesse. Of what height is she, M'sieur Desmond, and of what breadth and of what colour? My taste is of the rarest. Come with me for one moment all alone, M'sieur Mansfield; you have seen most of her and can describe her best." She ushered Mr. Mansfield into the _salon_, which adjoined that of the old Comte. Mansfield found great difficulty in describing his little angel and Madame did not fail to notice that in spite of every endeavour the tears trembled to his eyes, although on no account would he allow them to fall. "Oh, la, la! she is beautiful," exclaimed the Comtesse, when his description had come to an end. "Monsieur Englishman you are good. On that point rest assured. You have the distinction of bearing. I note it. I would that you could talk with our parish priest. You live among the high and holy things, M'sieur. Now, then, I have a little secret to impart, I would not tell it to another, but to you, yes, you have the air--the eye so clear and frank. Now, Monsieur, when I married the Comte, he was great with the notion that I, his little Ninon, had given up all the chapeaux and the robes that brought in the money--the francs so numerous that I could make the old place look like it did so long ago, but I did _not_ give up my _établissement_, m'sieur. Mon Dieu! I could not--I could not live without my gifts--I could not live without my silks and my satins, my lace, all real, I assure you; my opera cloaks, my tortoise-shell ostrich feather fans. No, no, I keep my _magasin_ going, so that I can give a good _dot_ to the little Comtesse, and the old man he knows nothing about it. He must never--never know--must my adorable Alphonse." CHAPTER VII. THE LITTLE COMTESSE. Margot's last day had dawned at Desmondstown. On the following morning she must leave grand-dad and Madam and young old Aunt Eileen and young old Aunt Norah and young old Aunt Bridget. She must also say good-bye to the boys, to Bruce and Malachi, and she was fully determined somehow or other to manage to give a last good-bye to Phinias Maloney and his wife Annie, and the baby who was so truly young. Little Margot felt very sad at the thought of going away, and she nestled more snugly than ever into her grandfather's arms and looked up into his stern old face and kissed him on his brown cheek. [Illustration: She nestled more snugly than ever into her grandfather's arms.--_Page 100._] "Grand-dad," she said, "how much do you love me now?" "Ah, worra, then, pushkeen, I'm thinking I love you better than all the rest of the wide world." "Oh, grand-dad," said Margot, with a sort of gasp, "then you love me better than all the old-youngs. It is wonderfully noble of you, grand-dad. You are a holy man--you are as holy, I'm thinking, as my uncle, John Mansfield." "Drat John Mansfield!" exclaimed The Desmond.