“You had come in before my arrival.”
“Would you like to see him in his box?”
Condescendingly I accompanied him to the stable and admired the hind quarters of an ill-tempered brown beast which seemed more than willing to kick me. His owner calmed him with cajoling words, as a personage accustomed to flattery.
“There is not a gentler animal,” he assured me. “When I am on Zeno’s back, and in the Maiden’s Wood, I let myself live in my memories.”
In friendly wise he detailed his present pleasures. No doubt his country instincts would have found satisfaction in the monotonous administration of the estate, but for the tragedy caused in his peaceful existence by the untimely death of his daughter. A question came to my lips.
“Madame Cernay left no child?”
“Yes, indeed, a daughter, Dilette,” he answered. “Our little Dilette. My son-in-law entrusts her to us in the summer. In winter she needs more sunshine than we can give her here, on account of the trees. She will soon go away with her father. It is not a cheerful thought. See! There she is!”
A child of six or seven years, with long hair flying, was at the moment crossing the greensward. Lightly she skipped along, her feet hardly touching the ground, like a bird learning to fly. The moment she saw me she ran away. My host smiled, approving and disapproving at once.
“She is shy,” he said, “as her mother was.”
I was about to take my leave, when he earnestly begged me to come into the house.