“He is at Nogent? Oh! I am glad of that, for then I can go there, I can take my mother there! Monsieur Malberg, who is so kind to us, offered me employment there long ago, and work for my mother; I refused then, but to-day I have decided to go; my mother is packing, and she must have finished by this time; but I don’t know what road to take to go to Nogent; can you tell me, Monsieur Pongo?” “You, go to Nogent? Then you come with me. Me going back right away to master with Mamzelle Zima, what we forgot. Poor Zima! Her not like not to be in the country. Oh! me very glad if you coming, Monsieur Georget! You will see what a pretty place it is! Lots of fruit, fine garden, pretty flowers! Carabi, he play a lot down there; he grow big like a ball! You go fetch your good mother, and we start right away! I beat Broubrou, Babo, and all the little rugs! Dem nice and clean now. Me all ready.” “I will go and bring my mother and our bundles.” “Oh! me go up with you, carry all that! The mother, her never carry nothing.” And the mulatto, without listening to Georget’s thanks, went up with him to the attic and took possession so quickly of all the bundles prepared by Madame Brunoy, that she had no time to remonstrate; Pongo was downstairs before the good woman had closed her door. The three travellers passed the concierge’s lodge; Baudoin, who stood in the doorway, heaved a deep sigh as he said to them: “God forgive me! I believe the wretched Hildegarde will recover!” XXIII IN THE FRESH AIR When they entered the charming little house at Nogent which belonged to the Comte de Brévanne, Georget’s mother uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise. In truth, it was difficult for anyone who loves the country not to be overjoyed to live in such a lovely spot. The house, which was quite modern, had only two floors, and at the top a fine terrace, surrounded by vases filled with flowers. But each window had an artistically carved balcony, with railings of the finest workmanship. In front of the house a beautiful lawn with a border of orange trees, afforded a pleasant relief to the eye. And on each side, broad paths of lindens afforded during the hottest weather a promenade where the sun was not allowed to penetrate. Georget himself, despite the painful thoughts which oppressed his heart, could not remain indifferent to all the beauties which nature lavished about him. Those majestic trees, those flower-laden shrubs, that green lawn, the balmy air, everything appealed to his senses; he felt a sort of alleviation of his pain, his brow brightened, and for the first time since his departure from Paris, he looked with interest at his surroundings. “What! are we going to live here?” cried Georget’s mother. “Why, it isn’t possible! it’s too beautiful! This house is a regular château! I shall never dare to go into it.”