"Not so, Signora," said Maltravers, seating himself, and placing the child on his knee; "my young friend will set to work again with a greater gusto after this little break in upon his labours."
"You will stay with us all day, I hope?" said De Montaigne.
"Indeed," said Maltravers, "I am come to ask permission to do so, for to-morrow I depart for England."
"Is it possible?" cried Teresa. "How sudden! How we shall miss you!
Oh! don't go. But perhaps you have bad news from England?"
"I have news that summon me hence," replied Maltravers; "my guardian and second father has been dangerously ill. I am uneasy about him, and reproach myself for having forgotten him so long in your seductive society."
"I am really sorry to lose you," said De Montaigne, with greater warmth in his tone than in his words. "I hope heartily we shall meet again soon: you will come, perhaps, to Paris?"
"Probably," said Maltravers; "and you, perhaps, to England?"
"Ah, how I should like it!" exclaimed Teresa.
"No, you would not," said her husband; "you would not like England at all; you would call it /triste/ beyond measure. It is one of those countries of which a native should be proud, but which has no amusement for a stranger, precisely because full of such serious and stirring occupations to the citizens. The pleasantest countries for strangers are the worst countries for natives (witness Italy), and /vice versa/."
Teresa shook her dark curls, and would not be convinced.