"Has she been there long?" asked the marchioness.
It was the abbé who answered this time.
"About, ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, madame."
"And you consider that Bijou is not interesting to look at?" exclaimed the old lady, laughing. "You are difficult to please, monsieur!"
Abbé Courteil, who had not been long in the family, and who was incredibly shy, blushed from the neck-band of his cassock to the roots of his fair hair, and stammered out in dismay:
"But, madame, when you asked if anything interesting were taking place on the terrace, I thought you meant—something—something extraordinary, and I never thought that the presence of Mademoiselle Bij—I mean, of Mademoiselle Denyse—as she always gathers her flowers there at this time every day—I never thought that you would consider that as—"
The sentence ended in an unintelligible way, whilst the abbé, very much confused, continued shaking the numbers about in the bag.
"That poor abbé," said Bertrade de Rueille, very quietly, "you do frighten him, grandmamma."
"Nonsense! nothing of the kind! I do not frighten him; you exaggerate, my dear."
And then, after a moment's reflection, Madame de Bracieux continued: