I soon recrossed the savanna, and entered the orangery. I did not stay to go round by the wicket, but climbed over the fence at its lower end. So happy was I that my load felt light as a feather. Exultingly I strode forward, dashing the loaded boughs from my path. I sent their golden globes rolling hither and thither. What mattered a bushel of oranges?
I reached the parterre. My mother was in the verandah; she saw me as I approached, and uttered an exclamation of joy. I flung the spoils of the chase at her feet. I had kept my promise.
“What is that?—a bird?”
“Yes the king vulture—a present for Virgine. Where is she? Not up yet? Ha! the little sluggard—I shall soon arouse her. Still abed and on such a beautiful morning!”
“You wrong her, George; she has been up on hour or more. She has been playing; and has just this moment left off.”
“But where is she now? In the drawing-room?”
“No; she has gone to the bath.”
“To the bath!”
“Yes, she and Viola. What—”
“O mother—mother—”