His mouth wide open with astonishment, the young _Garde-à-Cheval_ saw Piotr emerge at a lively trot from the long flight of stone steps leading up from a lower terrace and fly like a dart toward him--Piotr transformed into a big boy in long sailor-trousers, a nautical blouse, and a _béret_, with the words _La Mauve_ in gold gleaming on its ribbon, thrust well to the back of his head. “Hallo, Cousin Pavlo!” the boy cried. “They told me you had come, so I ran as fast as I could!” And doffing his _béret_ in right gallant fashion, he held out his brown hand in greeting. “_Saperlipopette!_” exclaimed Pavlo. “The heir of the House of Palitzin leaves nothing to be desired, it seems to me.” With an amusing tilt of his eminently patrician nose Piotr looked his cousin up and down, and, preternaturally solemn, declared, “Neither does the heir of the House of Salvières!” There was a general burst of merriment. “This comes,” Régis gravely pronounced, as soon as he could speak, “of being brought up entirely among grown people. One knows one’s ropes early.” “Are you going to stay long with us, Cousin Pavlo?” demanded the undismayed Piotr. “Fairly so, if you’ll permit it, my dear cousin.” “I do! But it’s only because you are too old now to be a playmate that I like your being here.” “You surprise me, Monsieur Piotr!” said Pavlo, who was quite genuinely amazed. “Might I so far venture as to ask what set objection you have against playmates?” “It’s little darling Malou’s fault,” imperturbably explained Piotr. “Fancy, Cousin Pavlo, that some months ago she threatened to give me one--a playmate who would take her place and Papa’s, and toss the _paume_ with me.” “Well?” inquired Pavlo. “Was there anything offensive about that?” Piotr’s face had turned a little pale, his eyes narrowing almost to slits. “No,” he grumbled, “not as it turned out at last. But you see, Cousin Pavlo, it might have been different.” “_What_ might have been different?” insisted Pavlo. “Can’t you explain better than that, Piotr?” “No!” the boy replied, his frank and open expression suddenly transformed into sulkiness. “I don’t like to talk about it. Come and see my soldiers, Cousin Pavlo; it will be much more pleasant. They are,” he continued, resuming his ordinary tone and mien, “_Gardes-à-Cheval_ like yourself. And just think, Papa gave me a real, big, splendid camp, with a mess-tent and little _isbas_ exactly like those at _your_ camp--the soldiers are five inches tall, and the horses all in proportion.” “What sort of a playroom have you got, my friend, to hold such an outfit?” asked Pavlo, smiling. “Oh, the whole floor of a tower!” cried Piotr, triumphantly. “My little darling Malou arranged it all for me. She thinks of nobody but me. Don’t you, little darling Malou?” And with the most tender and winning smile imaginable, the boy clasped Marguerite’s waist in both arms and looked adoringly up at her.