"Get into your coat!" said the butler to the footman; "there's a carriage coming slowly up the avenue. Oh, you've got plenty of time, it isn't here yet."
"Whose carriage is it?" said the footman, looking through the window.
"I don't know it; it's a fine-looking turn-out, anyhow. It might very well be the owner of The Norinière."
"My goodness! it's a clinking turn-out."
"Oh, he can afford it."
"He's got some money, then?"
"Why, yes, an awful lot; he's got about sixteen thousand a year."
"Do you know him, then?"
"My wife was kitchen-maid at his place before I married her—a good master he is, always pleasant, and not at all near—you'd better start now if you want to get to the steps before he's there."
A minute before, Bijou, finding that she was short of flowers, had run out into the garden, and, springing across the path, had pushed her way into the middle of a rose-bed, and was now cutting away mercilessly. She was so absorbed that she did not hear the carriage, which was coming up the drive, and which went round the lawn, and pulled up in front of the stone steps. When at last she did happen to look up, she saw, a few steps away from her, a tall gentleman standing gazing at her with a most rapturous expression.