“The citizen is a very successful gardener,” hazarded Gilbert, also looking at it. “Gardening is my passion,” returned the old man fervently. And he went off into a tolerably long panegyric of the occupation, concluding by saying: “But I weary you, citizen, for you have not the air of one interested in agricultural pursuits.” “On the contrary,” replied the Marquis, “I am deeply concerned in them.” And with guarded allusions to a small estate, he spoke, for the sake of being agreeable, of English methods, and how far they might be pursued in France, while Louis gazed from each window in turn at the distant woods of Le Perche and La Ferté-Vidame. Gilbert’s neighbour heard him enthralled. “But I am listening to a master!” he exclaimed, when Gilbert paused, afraid of saying too much. “Citizen, you are fortunate indeed, in these days of political turmoil, to know such rural delights! How true to-day is what the Mantuan writes—I was just reading it when my cabbage fell down.” He picked up his book and began to declaim— “‘Fortunatus et ille, Deos qui novit agrestes, Panaque, Silvanumque senem, Nymphasque sorores! Illum non populi fasces, non purpura regum Flexit, et infidos agitans discordia fratres;’— that line might almost apply to the Princes— ‘Aut conjurato descendens Dacus ab Istro’ —the Austrians to the life! ‘Non res Romano, perituraque regna.’ How extraordinarily apt a passage, citizen!” It was, had it been true that agricultural delights had really banished political cares from the mind of his hearer. But the citation appeared to the Marquis a possible trap, and he preferred not to comment on it. The old man, however, turned the page and proceeded along a further stretch of delicate ground. “Listen to this, citizen. Would you not say that Virgil was writing of the Assembly and the _émigrés_? ‘Hic stupet attonitus rostris: hunc plausus hiantem Per cuneos (geminatus enim plebisque patrumque) Corripuit:’ —Vergniaud, or whom you like— ‘gaudent perfusi sanguine fratrum,’— may it not come to that! But listen—this is Coblentz: ‘Exilioque demos et dulcia limina mutant, Atque alio patriam quaerunt sub sole jacentem.’” The reader looked up, and albeit Gilbert was quite innocent of any intention of seeking a country lying under another sun after the manner of the _émigrés_, he was not sure that his kindly-looking vis-à-vis, with his shrewd spectacled eyes, had not some suspicion of him. His uneasiness was not shared by Louis, who, as M. des Graves truly said, had forgotten his Virgil, and who was covertly yawning. The Marquis endeavoured to show an interest which should not commit him to any opinion on these interpretations.