Louise made her request.
"Ah, non, non, ce n'est pas possible. Madame she is out and la petite Comtesse is also out," replied the footman.
"I want to see Monsieur le Comte," said Louise. "I have a message to give him of great importance with regard to his granddaughter."
The man looked hard, very hard indeed at Louise. He longed to ask, "Is it a message of the serious?" but he restrained himself.
"I will enquire," he said. "Restez tranquille, Mademoiselle, I have before now eaten of your father's sweetmeats the most superb! Ah, but they melt in the mouth! Behold, a chair, Mademoiselle! I will take your message to the Comte, if it is really not one to do him any injury."
"No, no, he ought to know," said Louise. "It will save him trouble in the future. Go and, behold, if you succeed I will get my father to send you a box of his best chocolates!"
The man gazed again at the queer-looking girl and finally retired into the salon where M. le Comte was calmly resting.
M. le Comte was very happy—his beloved Madame was nearly always by his side, and now he had almost three months of la petite before him. The adored la petite! Could any aged man be happier than he? He did not mind his feeling of weakness, the rapid approach of extreme old age did not trouble him. He was happy in the gentle, soothing present. What else mattered, what else could matter?
He was interrupted when Gustave came in with his message.