"And the child of Rose à Charlitte?" said Emmanuel, eagerly.
"A little angel,—so calm, so gentle, so polite. If you could see him bow to the ladies,—it is ravishing, I assure you. And he is always spoiled by Mrs. Nimmo, who adores him."
"Will he come back to the Bay?"
"I do not know," and Bidiane's vivacious face grew puzzled. "I do not ask questions—alas! have I offended you?—I assure you I was thinking only of myself. I am curious. I talk too much, but you have seen Mr. Nimmo. You know that beyond a certain point he will not go. I am ignorant of his intentions with regard to the child. I am ignorant of his mother's intentions; all I know is that Mr. Nimmo wishes him to be a forester."
"A forester!" ejaculated Madame Thériault, "and what is that trade?"
Bidiane laughed gaily. "But, my dear madame, it is not a trade. It is a profession. Here on the Bay we do not have it, but abroad one hears often of it. Young men study it constantly. It is to take care of trees. Do you know that if they are cut down, water courses dry up? In Clare we do not think of that, but in other countries trees are thought useful and beautiful, and they keep them."
"Hold—but that is wonderful," said Emmanuel.
Bidiane turned to him with a winning smile. "Monsieur, how am I to get to the shore? I am eaten up with impatience to see Madame de Forêt and my aunt."
"But there is my cart, mademoiselle," and he pointed to the shed beyond them. "I shall feel honored to conduct you."