Pettermann was still sitting in the cab which was waiting in front of the house. I told him that he was to return to my apartment in Paris, to take up his quarters there, and to be always ready to bring what I needed to Saint-Mandé. Pettermann bowed, and drove away, saying: “I am very glad that I didn’t have to get out of the carriage.” Ernest and Marguerite showed me to the room which they had set apart for me. It looked on the garden, and I found it very much to my liking, especially when they pointed out to me, opposite my room, the room in which Henriette and her brother slept; I was very glad to be able to kiss my daughter as soon as I woke, and without disturbing anyone. It only remained to show me the property. That was a joy for a landed proprietor, and Ernest and his wife were enchanted to do it. The house was not large, but it was pleasant and convenient. Moreover, Ernest was a genuine poet; he had no ambition; he would have been bored to death in a palace, and he agreed with Socrates. As for Marguerite, she fancied herself in a château, and she was never tired of saying, “our property.” But she would add at once: “When I used to live in my little room under the eaves, I hardly expected that I should have a house of my own some day.” “A person is worthy of having a house of her own, madame, when it does not make her forget that she once lived under the eaves,” I would rejoin. Only the garden remained to be inspected. It was quite large, and at the farther end there was an iron gate leading into Vincennes forest. At the end of the wall I saw a small summer house with two windows, one of which looked into the forest; they were both secured by shutters. “What do you do with this summer-house?” I asked Ernest. “I expect--I intend it for a study.” “True, it will be a quiet place for you to work in.” “But it isn’t arranged for that yet,” said Marguerite; “and as we have spent a great deal of money on our estate already, we shall wait a while before furnishing the summer-house; shan’t we, husband?” “Yes, wife.” Ernest smiled as he said that, and so did I, for Madame Ernest emphasized the word _husband_, which she uttered every instant, as if to make up for the time when she dared not say it. I took my daughter by the hand to walk about the garden. Henriette was seven years old; she was not very large, but her wit and good sense amazed me. All the evening I kept her talking; her answers delighted me, for they denoted no less sense than goodness of heart. I could not tire of looking at her and of listening to her. More than once I had been terribly bored in a fashionable assemblage, but I was very sure that I should never be bored with my daughter.