He took the hand of the unresisting girl and led her to her aunt, whose arm glided round Annette's waist, holding it as in a vice.
"I will not answer you," said Basil, with an encouraging smile at Annette, whose face instantly brightened. "Annette knows I have spoken the truth, and that is enough."
"Yes, Basil," said Annette, boldly, "you have spoken the truth, and I will never, never forget what you have said to me to-day."
"Take her away," said Gilbert Bidaud to his sister; "the farce is played out. In a week it will be forgotten."
"Good-bye, Basil," said Annette "and God bless you."
"Good-bye, Annette," said Basil, "and God guard you."
"How touching, how touching!" murmured Gilbert Bidaud. "It is surely a scene from an old comedy. Take her away."
"Just one moment, please," said Old Corrie, joining the group. "Here is something that belongs to the little lady, that she would like to take with her to the new world. It will remind her of the old, and of friends she leaves in it."
It was the magpie in its wicker cage, whose tongue being loosened by company, or perhaps by a desire to show off its accomplishments to an appreciative audience, became volubly communicative.
"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!"