“Dear uncle, see these beautiful violets,” she cried
The Bishop’s eyes glistened. “And the security?” he said, stretching out his hand.
“My word, the word of a nobleman;” and they shook hands.
A pause ensued. Each of the men, in the stillness, seemed to be studying whether he might not find eventually that he had been overreached and had not received his proper share. The Bishop was the first to come to a decision, and asked, “When shall we begin our work, noble friend?”
“At once, if you are ready.” Thereupon he rang a bell, and ordered the servant who answered it to call Mademoiselle de Chafleur.
It was not long before Marie came running into the room, full of joyous exultation. “Dear uncle, see these beautiful violets,” she cried. “Oh, what delicious perfume!”
“Very beautiful indeed. They are messengers sent by Spring to the other flowers.”
“It must be so. Oh, you cannot imagine how beautiful the park is already! Tell me quickly what I am to do, so that I can return soon.”
“So you find it very pleasant in the park?”
“Oh, I could stay there always.”