"Caroline," responded Armand instantly.
And they both looked at each other and laughed, for if these conspirators resorted sometimes to the methods of opéra-bouffe, they did not take them very seriously.
"Any news this morning?" inquired Armand.
"The best," answered the other. "Late last night the Committee received a letter from Madame for transmission to the chiefs in the West, warning them to be ready by the third of May. She has probably embarked by now!"
Armand stared at him a moment. Then he sprang to his feet, and lifting his olive-green hat, cried aloud to the empty garden: "At last, at last! Vive la guerre!"
CHAPTER XX
(1)
"But, my aunt," protested Claude-Edmond, "what is a 'calender'? It is evidently not an almanac, but a person."
Horatia laid down the "Arabian Nights" and laughed, a little laugh of real enjoyment. "Do you know, Claude," she said, "that I have never been quite sure myself. If you would find out for me I should be very grateful to you." She slid her hand a moment over her nephew's head, and Claude-Edmond, a Gallic child, caught and conveyed it with respect and affection to his lips.
It was impossible to be unhappy this morning. It was May. Behind Horatia's back lay the great mass of Plaisance, all built in the style of the stables of Chantilly, with flanking pavilions, chapel and laundry, and in front the two immense lime-tree avenues, now gloriously green, and the artificial pieces of water reminiscent of Versailles, with stone urns of tortured design, and stone animals, wolves and lions. On the grass by Claude-Edmond lay the rod with which he had been unsuccessfully fishing for carp in these lakes, before his aunt began her present occupation of reading the "Arabian Nights" to him in English. A little way off Maurice was being slowly walked to and fro in Martha's arms. And it was May.