“But, mamma,” said Lucie, seeing her in the dining-room, “I can set the table.”
“So you can to-morrow,” said her mother, “but now I have done it, and there is nothing further to add to it.”
Lucie viewed it critically. “I can gather some fresh flowers,” she offered.
Her mother made no answer.
Lucie looked over her shoulder as she went out. “One must have courage, mamma, so I will gather the very gayest and brightest blossoms to cheer us up.”
She continued her way into the garden and was gravely contemplating roses and gillyflowers when she heard some one whistling a joyous air. For a moment she thought it was Jean, then she remembered that there was no more a Jean to be whistling and singing about the premises. She discovered, too, that the sound came from the other side of the wall. It was not Annette who was there. Annette never whistled. Presently the whistling ceased. Lucie began to arrange her bouquet, but before it was half completed she was aware of a pair of eyes fixed upon her, and looking up she saw above the wall a merry face smiling down at her.
“Victor!” she cried. “Where did you come from?”
“Tell me first,” returned the lad, “where is my cousin Annette.”
“That I do not know. Isn’t she in the house?”
“Would I be seeking her in the garden if she were?” laughed Victor. “No, my dear Lucie, she is neither within nor without the mansion of the Le Bruns so far as I can ascertain. I have brought something for her, but since she is not here, and Madame the grandmother objects to this gift, I must take it back or bestow it elsewhere.”