"Why, herself, the good woman, to be near you," said the child.
"My darling, we must all fit ourselves for the position that Providence assigns," remarked good John Mansfield, and then they reached the great station and found themselves in the stately town, for Arles is very south and very warm and exceedingly picturesque.
Mansfield made enquiries and discovered that a carriage was waiting for la petite Comtesse. Into this the little Margot stepped. John Mansfield followed her. The ugly brown trunk was placed beside the coachman, and they drove in the direction of the château, which was quite a mile outside the town of Arles.
They found Madame la Comtesse waiting to greet them. She wore a most wonderful dress, which she considered according to her own ideas, le juste milieu. On her head was a chapeau, which consisted mostly of large violets. Her dress was pale green, with a triste little bow of black just under the chin. She bounded down the steps and clasped la petite Comtesse in her arms.
"I am thy belle grand'mère," she said. "My pigeon, my little cabbage, look at me, I am thy belle grand'mère in very truth."
"But you are young," said Margot. "My Irish grandmother is beautiful and old."
"Ah, but never mind, little strange one, it cannot be helped. The Irish grand'mère is old—the French grand'mère is young, très bien. Come with me and I will introduce thee to thy grandpère—eh, but he has got the years and well do they suit mon Alphonse. Thy grandpère is adorable, my little cabbage."
The French grandpère was certainly very different from the Irish grandfather, and little Margot looked at him out of her soft black eyes with a puzzled mingling of admiration and surprise.
"Ah, but thou art indeed come, mon enfant!"
The old Comte reclined just as of old, on his down pillows. He was covered just as he was a week past with a soft crimson plush coverlet. He looked anxiously out of his sunken black eyes into the soft black eyes of la petite Comtesse.