Francois was dining—with an appearance of great fervour.
Peter sat on his rustic bench, by the riverside, and watched him, smoking a cigarette the while.
The Duchessa di Santangiolo stood screened by a tree in the park of Ventirose, and watched them both.
Francois wore a wide blue ribbon round his pink and chubby neck; and his dinner consisted of a big bowlful of bread and milk.
Presently the Duchessa stepped forth from her ambush, into the sun, and laughed.
“What a sweetly pretty scene,” she said. “Pastoral—idyllic—it reminds one of Theocritus—it reminds one of Watteau.”
Peter threw his cigarette into the river, and made an obeisance.
“I am very glad you feel the charm of it,” he responded. “May I be permitted to present Master Francois Vllon?”
“We have met before,” said the Duchessa, graciously smiling upon Francois, and inclining her head.
“Oh, I did n't know,” said Peter, apologetic.