Bidiane glanced at the cool white cottage against its green background. "Why, it is like a tiny Grand Trianon!"
"An' what's that?"
"It is a villa near Paris, a very fine one, built in the form of a horseshoe."
"Yes,—that's what we call it," interrupted her aunt. "We ain't blind. We say the horseshoe cottage."
"One of the kings of France had the Grand Trianon built for a woman he loved," said Bidiane, reverently. "I think Mr. Nimmo must have sent the plan for this from Paris,—but he never spoke to me about it."
"He is not a man who tells all," said Claudine, in French.
Bidiane and Mirabelle Marie had been speaking English, but they now reverted to their own language.
"When do you have lunch?" asked Bidiane.
"Lunch,—what's that?" asked her aunt. "We have dinner soon."
"And I must descend," said Claudine, hurrying down-stairs. "I smell something burning."