After supper we went out on the terrace. It was a perfect summer night, neither too warm nor too cool. There was no moon, but the stars flung down their languid light, and the earth, with its great dark masses of vegetation and the gently swaying tree-tops, seemed to answer back in a thousand vague perfumes. Somewhere, close at hand, out of an enchanted tree, a nightingale raved and carolled in delirious music. We had the good taste to listen in silence. My mother sat down on a bench against the house, and put out her hand and made my father sit beside her. Mlle. de Bergerac strolled to the edge of the terrace, and leaned against the balustrade, whither M. de Treuil soon followed her. She stood motionless, with her head raised, intent upon the music. The Vicomte seated himself upon the parapet, with his face towards her and his arms folded. He may perhaps have been talking, under cover of the nightingale. Coquelin seated himself near the other end of the terrace, and drew me between his knees. At last the nightingale ceased. Coquelin got up, and bade good night to the company, and made his way across the park to his lodge. I went over to my aunt and the Vicomte. "M. Coquelin is a clever man," said the Vicomte, as he disappeared down the avenue. "He spoke very well this evening." "He never spoke so much before," said I. "He's very shy." "I think," said my aunt, "he's a little proud." "I don't understand," said the Vicomte, "how a man with any pride can put up with the place of a tutor. I had rather dig in the fields." "The Chevalier is much obliged to you," said my aunt, laughing. "In fact, M. Coquelin has to dig a little, hasn't he, Chevalier?" "Not at all," said I. "But he keeps some plants in pots." At this my aunt and the Vicomte began to laugh. "He keeps one precious plant," cried my aunt, tapping my face with her fan. At this moment my mother called me away. "He makes them laugh," I heard her say to my father, as I went to her. "She had better laugh about it than cry," said my father. Before long, Mlle. de Bergerac and her companion came back toward the house. "M. le Vicomte, brother," said my aunt, "invites me to go down and walk in the park. May I accept?" "By all means," said my father. "You may go with the Vicomte as you would go with me." "Ah!" said the Vicomte. "Come then, Chevalier," said my aunt. "In my turn, I invite you." "My son," said the Baronne, "I forbid you." "But my brother says," rejoined Mlle. de Bergerac, "that I may go with M. de Treuil as I would go with himself. He would not object to my taking my nephew." And she put out her hand. "One would think," said my mother, "that you were setting out for Siberia." "For Siberia!" cried the Vicomte, laughing; "O no!" I paused, undecided. But my father gave me a push. "After all," he said, "it's better." When I overtook my aunt and her lover, the latter, losing no time, appeared to have come quite to the point.