"I will own," she said to me, "that I do not care for the old buccaneer. When he first came here he had a large and favourite ape, which he dressed up like a servant, and which he seemed to be able to communicate with perfectly. The animal was a nuisance to the whole country, and only a man without education or decency could have kept it. I agreed when they told me that it was an ape, but, as a fact, I have always believed that it was a negro, more especially as I had always suspected its master of having trafficked in that commodity in Africa. But M. Laroque, the son, was a good sort of man, and quite a gentleman. As to the ladies—I refer, of course, to Mme. Laroque and her daughter, and in no way to the widow Aubry, an extremely common person—as to the ladies, I say, they deserve every good thing one can say of them." Just then we heard the hoofs of a horse on the path that runs outside the garden wall, and the next moment some one was knocking sharply at a small door near the arbour. "Yes," said Mlle. de Porhoët. "Who goes there?" I looked up, and saw a black plume above the top of the wall. "Open," said a gay voice outside, full of musical intonations. "Open. ’Tis the fortune of France!" "What? Is it you, my darling?" said the old lady. "Quick, cousin, run!" As I opened the door Mervyn rushed between my legs, nearly throwing me down. Mlle. Marguerite was tying up her horse to the fence by his reins. "_Bonjour_, M. Odiot," she said, without showing any surprise at finding me there. Throwing the long folds of her habit over her arm, she entered the garden. "Welcome this lovely day, my lovely girl!" said Mlle. de Porhoët. "Kiss me, dear. You’ve been riding too fast, you foolish child. I can tell by your colour and the fire that literally seems to flash from your eyes. What can I offer you, my beauty?" "Let me see," said Mlle. Marguerite, glancing at the table. "What have you got? Has M. Odiot eaten up everything? Not that it matters. I am thirsty, not hungry." "I utterly forbid you to drink while you’re so hot. But wait a moment; there are some strawberries left in that bed." "Strawberries! _O giòia_!" sang the girl. "Take one of those fig-leaves, M. Odiot, and come with me. Quick!" While I chose the largest of the fig-leaves, Mlle. de Porhoët half-closed one eye, and followed her favourite with the other, as she walked proudly along the sunlit alley. "Look at her, cousin," she whispered, with an approving smile; "isn’t she worthy to be one of us?"