He rose to kiss her. She returned his caress with effusion and asked saucily: "Guess where I have been!" "I take orders from no one!" Gerald replied. "Well, I have been to see père Raindal!" "The Kangaroo!" Surprised, Zozé opened her eyes wide. "The Kangaroo!" "Why, of course!" Gerald said. "Didn't you notice the way he held his arms and his hands? A regular kangaroo! All he lacks is the pocket in front, and little ones inside." Zozé laughed. Then she gave him a humorous account of her visit, described the furniture, the carpet, the hangings; she told of the smelling pot-au-feu; she gave an imitation of Mme. Raindal, of Mme. Boudois and of Mme. Lebercq, all in the hope of amusing Gerald. The young man had a certain amount of natural acrobatic talent, although he had not appeared in amateur circus performances. While he listened to Zozé he stretched his limbs by walking round the room on his hands, his legs bent back and his feet hanging over his neck. When she had finished her story, he turned a somersault, slipped his arms behind his knees and, in that uncomfortable position, took a few frog-like jumps. Then he straightened himself up smartly and asked: "Well then, are you going to engage this mummy merchant?" "Why not; do you mind?" Zozé ventured, somewhat frightened. "I!" Gerald replied. "No, not at all!... All tastes exist in nature!... You already have a novelist, three artists, two musicians and an _abbé_.... The kangaroo will complete your collection.... I congratulate you!" He bowed with an affected grand manner and declared, as he pointed to the next room. "You are at home here, dear Madame." Zozé obeyed him, throwing him as she passed a passionate look. Gerald joined her after a few minutes. While he lit the candles on the mantelpiece, Mme. Chambannes lay silent, looking up to the ceiling, with a sudden serious expression. She had a fleeting vision of the two nuns who were walking in the cold, in the grassless garden, with their chaplets in their hands. That brought her a sensation of shame. Confusedly, an idea came to her mind, showing her another life, as good and even probably better than her own, a life devoted to other aims than to go to bed every afternoon, with candles lit. But Gerald approached and asked imperiously. "What are we thinking about?" Suddenly, like a child caught doing a forbidden thing, Zozé assumed again her happy, lover-like expression. "We are thinking.... We are thinking that we adore you, wicked Raldo, who made me feel so miserable this morning." She stretched out her arms in a gesture of surrender and appeal. Gerald slipped into her embrace, coaxing her in naughty whispers. CHAPTER VII