Poor Therese had been told the sad story of the mother she had never known, and of whom no relics remained but some silky black hair, a ring, and that singular brooch--an ornament so unlike anything she had ever seen, and which was graven with a legend in a language to her so strange and barbarous; and her heart yearned for a further knowledge of whom she was, and whence she came, and for that mother's kiss, of which, though it had been planted a thousand times upon her little lips, she had no memory; and at times she mourned for that father she had never seen. Then it seemed so odd, so strange, so grievous that she could have any other father than the dear, kind old baron, for whom she had a love and reverence so filial and so strong. But to resume. "The evening lags, as if the sun would never set," yawned the petulant little beauty. "What shall we do with ourselves--speak, you provoking Nanon?" "Play," was the pithy reply. "I have played everything that came last from Paris, and my piano is now frightfully out of tune--the chords are fallen." "Read." "I have read MM. Marivaux, Bernis, and Jean Jacques de Rousseau till I am sick of them." "Draw." "It makes my head ache, and the Abbé Boissy says it will spoil my eyes, in which he seems to take a poetical interest." "Sing." "Nanon, you bore me!" "Suppose we pray, then!" "Ma foi!--that would not be very amusing when one is dull and dreary." "Order out the grey pads and ride." "M. Beauchatel never allows that, as you know well, Nanon, save when he is with me; and we shall have enough of our horses, I have no doubt, when this odious old count, whom I am to marry, and whom I already hate, and whom I am resolved to tease to death, arrives here." "I shall retire, mademoiselle." "You shall not!" "I fear you find me poor company," urged Nanon, demurely. "Poor or bad company are better than none----" "Here in this huge chateau, perhaps; but one would not think so in the midst of a wood." "Here I am left all day with no thoughts to rouse me but of that horrible old Comte d'Arcot, who is certainly coming from India, and to whom I am to be given like a box of rupees or a bale of sugar." "It is a long way to India," said Nanon; "away round the end of the world at Cape Finisterre, and perhaps--perhaps----" "Say on, Nanon." "He may be drowned by the way." "Ah! don't say so, Nanon!" "Storms may arise, as they frequently do, and then ships are wrecked. There was M. la Perouse, who sailed away out into the wide ocean in the days of the late King Louis XV., and has never been heard of since. If stout young sailors drown, surely an old soldier like Comte d'Arcot may." "I am almost wicked enough to wish it." "I think I see something that will amuse you, mademoiselle." "Mon Dieu! I am glad of that--what is it?" "A party of soldiers." "Where?--oh, I do so love to see soldiers!"