"They are only less charming than the donor!" he declared with a stately bow.
"Oh, M. Floriot!" she protested with a blush, and smile. Then as he turned to replace the' bouquet on his desk she added in a whisper to Raymond:
"I think you might speak to him now."
"So do I!" he agreed in the same tone.
"My father told me to tell you that he would be over to see you about eleven o'clock, M. Floriot," she remarked as he turned to them again.
"I shall be charmed to see him!"
"I'll go and bring him—if you don't mind!" she offered eagerly. M. the President smiled.
"I'll try not to be very angry!" he assured her. The three walked slowly out into the garden where the older man found a seat in a little rustic house while the lovers moved slowly toward the gate. He pretended to be much absorbed in the morning paper, but watched them slyly out of the corner of his eye. Instead of going outside, Helene stopped behind a big shrub that totally concealed her, and Raymond came back with not exactly eager strides.
Within ten feet of the seated figure in the rustic house he stopped and twice opened his mouth, but could not get out a word. His father did not seem to have the slightest idea that he was there. He took another timid step; and then, as the paper rustled, he bolted in the direction of the bush that concealed his ally.
Helene stepped out, shaking with silent laughter, and waved him back with imperious gestures. He returned once more to the attack, but again gave way to panic at the critical moment. At last he edged up to within conversational ear-shot and asked with a mock solemnity that did not conceal his nervousness: