"They must have gone out," said the housemaid, returning; "the conservatory door is wide open, and so is the outer door."
"Impossible!" stuttered Virginie, in her broken English; "their walking boots have not mounted; they have not but the thin shoes of the house!"
"They must be out," repeated the housemaid, "for I've hunted every corner. Have they taken their hats?"
Virginie strode across the room, and opened a drawer.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, when she saw it was empty.
"But, I say," she continued, gesticulating violently with both hands, "that M. Miles will catch the cold, the cough, the croup. See there, Jeanne! he has not the flannel shirt he carries always. His chest will inflame. He will die!"
She began to put on her bonnet.
"There they are!" exclaimed Jane, who had gone to the window. "Look there! out in that field!"
"In the fields? sitting on the wet grass!" said Virginie in horror, as she distinguished the two little figures in the distance, seated under a tree. "Entrez, entrez, à l'instant!" she screamed to the children, though they were much too far off to hear. She seized her shawl and ran down-stairs.
The little boys were coming homewards when she got into the garden, and she hurried on to meet them. Miles had hold of his brother's hand, and was walking rather wearily; but Humphrey, with his head still full of the success of his morning sport, disregarded alike Miles's languor and Virginie's infuriated appearance.