"M. Coquelin is a clever man," said the Vicomte, as he disappeared down the avenue. "He spoke very well this evening."
"He never spoke so much before," said I. "He's very shy."
"I think," said my aunt, "he's a little proud."
"I don't understand," said the Vicomte, "how a man with any pride can put up with the place of a tutor. I had rather dig in the fields."
"The Chevalier is much obliged to you," said my aunt, laughing. "In fact, M. Coquelin has to dig a little, hasn't he, Chevalier?"
"Not at all," said I. "But he keeps some plants in pots."
At this my aunt and the Vicomte began to laugh. "He keeps one precious plant," cried my aunt, tapping my face with her fan.
At this moment my mother called me away. "He makes them laugh," I heard her say to my father, as I went to her.
"She had better laugh about it than cry," said my father.
Before long, Mlle. de Bergerac and her companion came back toward the house.