"That's funny," continued Uncle Antoine, who may have conceived some suspicions of his own in order to remain true to his habit of suspecting everybody. "Your mother passes hours and days in her garden, even in her salon, they say, and you----" "I am not my mother." "You mean that you are not noble?" "I mean that I am not old enough to call on a person who receives only older people." "Perhaps you regret that you are too young, eh?" "I am very glad that I am young, I assure you!" replied Julien, laughing at his uncle's peculiar reflections. The uncle, foiled in his attack, began to pace the floor again with a jerky, nerve-wearing step; then he said to Julien: "Will it take you much longer?" "Two or three hours." "May I look?" "If you choose." "Oho! that's not bad; that begins to look like something. But you're painting the whole background; where will you put the plant's name? I want it in big gold letters." "Then I won't put it anywhere. It would spoil my effect." "Ah! upon my word! But I will have my name!" "You can have it put in large black letters on a raised plate at the top or bottom of the gilt frame." "Good! that's a good idea! If you give me a masterpiece, I'll invite you to the ceremony of baptism." "Pshaw! a ceremony?" "Oh! yes, the gentlemen from the Royal Garden are coming to breakfast with me to-morrow. I have invited them. I expect they'll come, and, as it tires me to sit in one place with folded arms, I'll just go home and see if everything is going on all right, for I mean to have a sort of party. Take good care of my lily, don't let anyone disturb you, work without stopping. I will come back in an hour." And as each touch of the brush, wielded by Julien with an enthusiastic and unerring hand, seemed to make the marvellous plant actually live on the canvas, the uncle was profoundly impressed, smiled, and softened so far as to pat the young man's shoulder, saying: "Courage, my boy, courage! Satisfy me, and perhaps you won't be sorry." He went out, but, instead of returning to his own house, he bent his steps mechanically in the direction of the hôtel d'Estrelle. A confused multitude of ideas, alluring, disturbing, audacious, caused a mad whirl in that poor brain, at once enfeebled and excited by isolation, wealth, ennui and vanity. "I made a mistake," he said to himself, "in entrusting my proposal to that rattle-pated baroness. She went about it the wrong way; she didn't even mention my name! She said that I was an old _roturier_--that was all; and the little countess never guessed that she was referring to a well-preserved man, whom she herself praised for his excellent health and fine appearance; a man she knows to be generous and big-hearted, and whose talents as an amateur gardener and producer of varieties are not to be despised. I propose to straighten matters out. I am going to declare myself, and find out whether I am to love her or hate her."