“This not all,” said Pongo; “you’ll see the garden, the orchard, the kitchen garden, fine fruit, big cabbages, nice sweet little peas--we have everything! And then the poultry yard--little chickens, pigeons, ducks, turkeys! Oh! me like roast turkey!” “This place is a kind of paradise on earth.” “Monsieur Pongo, it would be very kind of you to go to your master and tell him that we have come, and ask him if he still wants us; for perhaps he may have different ideas now.” “Oh, he want you! he want you! Me go tell him; look, me see him over there in the garden; me run and take him Mamzelle Zima, to make him pleased. Wait, wait!” The mulatto left his travelling companions, to tell his master of their arrival. Georget remained with his mother, who continued to admire all that she saw, and walked along the paths with great caution, as if she were afraid of leaving her footprints there. But from time to time she glanced at her son, who had relapsed into reverie. “I mustn’t seem to notice his sadness,” she said to herself; “it will pass away. At his age, it isn’t possible that it will resist distractions, and we shall have enough of them here! A month from now I will wager that he won’t give a thought to his love-affair in Paris!” The Comte de Brévanne, notified by Pongo, soon appeared to receive the new arrivals; he greeted Madame Brunoy kindly, and she outdid herself in reverences; then he tapped Georget on the shoulder, and said to him: “Well! so we have changed our mind, have we? We are willing to live somewhere else than in Paris now?” Georget, who was deeply moved, and seemed constantly on the point of weeping, replied in a trembling voice: “Oh, yes! I am very glad, monsieur, very happy now to come here to live with my mother; that is to say, if you care to take us both.” “Certainly, my boy, my intention is still the same; I take back nothing of what I said and I am very glad to have you settle in my house; I trust that you won’t repent having come.” “O monsieur!” cried Mère Brunoy, with more reverences, “is it possible not to be happy here? It seems to me that I have grown ten years younger already since we have been here. Mon Dieu! such a lovely house! Monsieur may be sure I’ll do my best to satisfy him.” “Yes,” added Georget, struggling to master his emotion, “we will work all the time; in the first place, I wish to show monsieur that I am not a lazy fellow; I mean to employ my time better than in Paris, for in Paris I loafed sometimes, but that will not happen again; I shall never go back to Paris. Monsieur won’t make me go there, will you, monsieur? You will allow me to stay here all the time, won’t you?” Monsieur de Brévanne, who had noticed Georget’s excitement, smiled slightly as he replied: