“There is not a gentler animal,” he assured me. “When I am on Zeno’s back, and in the Maiden’s Wood, I let myself live in my memories.” In friendly wise he detailed his present pleasures. No doubt his country instincts would have found satisfaction in the monotonous administration of the estate, but for the tragedy caused in his peaceful existence by the untimely death of his daughter. A question came to my lips. “Madame Cernay left no child?” “Yes, indeed, a daughter, Dilette,” he answered. “Our little Dilette. My son-in-law entrusts her to us in the summer. In winter she needs more sunshine than we can give her here, on account of the trees. She will soon go away with her father. It is not a cheerful thought. See! There she is!” A child of six or seven years, with long hair flying, was at the moment crossing the greensward. Lightly she skipped along, her feet hardly touching the ground, like a bird learning to fly. The moment she saw me she ran away. My host smiled, approving and disapproving at once. “She is shy,” he said, “as her mother was.” I was about to take my leave, when he earnestly begged me to come into the house. “Madame Mairieux would be charmed to receive you,” he said. I excused myself to the best of my ability, pleading the early hour, my bicycle costume. He would not let me off, and I perceived from his kindly pertinacity that a scolding would be his lot should he permit his wife to be defrauded of a visit--a rare event in these parts, no doubt. I was therefore admitted to the presence of Mme. Mairieux, who, I assumed, had been watching me, not without some ill-humour, from the window, since we found her at that early hour all tricked out in silk and lace; unless, indeed it might be her Sunday garb she had on. She was certainly endowed with charm and Conversational ability, though the charm was a bit affected and the conversation that of the fashion papers and the women’s magazines. I at once made a distinction in favour of her husband, though he kept silence and appeared to be dominated by her. She talked intimately of “Raymond,” and, not without a certain satisfaction, of the chateau in which they might live whenever it pleased them so to do. “But M. Mairieux detests luxury and even comfort. And M. Mairieux must be heard too, for he will hear no one.” I turned toward M. Mairieux, who made no protest. Possibly he was endowed with that gentleness possessed by obstinate folk, who quietly escape from everything that does not accord with their pleasure. The want of harmony between the pair was patent, but, contrary to first appearances, the reins of government were in the husband’s hands. Mme. Mairieux confirmed the report of M. Cernay’s approaching arrival. “He always comes for All Saints’ Day,” she said.