"Should I tell Mr. Davy what I pay to Thoné for keeping my house in order,--or whether I went to church on a Sunday? Laura and I always agreed to live together, but we could not accomplish it until lately,--I mean, since I was in Italy. We met then, as we said we would. I carried her from Paris, where she was alone with every one but those who should have befriended her; her father had died, and she was living with Mademoiselle Margondret,--that person I did not like when I was young. If I had known where Laura was, I should have fetched her away before." I felt for a moment as if I wished that Laura had never been born, but only for one moment. I then resumed,-- "Does she not dance in London? She looks just ready for it." "She has accepted no engagement for this season at present. I cannot tell what she may do, however. Would you like to see my garden, Mr. Auchester?" "Indeed, I should very particularly like to see it, above all, if you will condescend to accompany me. There is a great deal more that I cannot help wishing for, Miss Benette; but I scarcely like to dream of asking about it to-night." "For me to sing? Oh! I will sing for you any time, but I would certainly rather talk to you,--at least until the beautiful day begins to go; and it is all bright yet." She walked before me without her bonnet down the winding garden-steps; the trellised balustrade was lost in rose-wreaths. We were soon in the rustling air, among the flowers that had not a withered petal, bursting hour by hour. "It would tease you to carry flowers, Mr. Auchester, or I should be tempted to gather a nosegay for you to take back to London. I cannot leave them alone while they are so fresh, and they quite ask to be gathered. Look at all the buds upon this bush,--you could not count them." "They are Provence roses. What a quantity you have!" "Thoné chose this cottage for me because of the number of the flowers. I believe she thinks there is some charm in flowers which will prevent my becoming wicked! If you had been so kind as to bring your violin, I would have filled up the case with roses, and then you would not have had to carry them in your hands." "But may I not have some, although I did not bring my violin? I never think of anything but violets, though, for strewing that sarcophagus." "Sarcophagus means 'tomb,' does it not? It is a fine idea of resurrection, when you take out the sleeping music and make it live. I know what you mean about violets,--their perfume is like the tones of your instrument, and one can separate it from all other scents in the spring, as those tones from all other tones of the orchestra." "I have a tender thought for violets,--a very sad one, Miss Benette; but still sweet now that what I remember has happened a long while ago."