"Wait till you see it!" said Fortuné.
And they went along the path, little more than a track, that wound between the trees. Over and about them were the fledgling beech-leaves, of the loveliest green of hope and innocence, so young and untried that they resembled gleams of bright water rather than anything more palpable; and underfoot, crackling like paper, were their fellows of last year.
"Then you used to come and play in this wood when you were a boy, M. le Chevalier?" began Anne-Hilarion again.
"I knew every inch of it once," replied the émigré.
Anne-Hilarion gave a sigh of envy. "But you ran away to sea, did you not?" he asked, and there was a strong suggestion of reproach in his tone.
La Vireville smiled. "Never!" he said. "What put such an idea into your head? I was in the navy once, it is true—I served under Suffren—but I assure you that I got there by the most legitimate channels. Mind that root, child!"
"Papa said that you had been a sailor," explained Anne, "and I thought——"
"I see," said his friend, amused.
"Are there as many trees as this in Jersey?" was Anne-Hilarion's next question.
"No, nephew, there are not. By the way, I don't believe I have ever told you where I am going to take you when we get to St. Helier—to Jersey, that is?"