"Yes, Madame," said the old man "two glass jugs—Venetian glass."
"Ah!" said auntie, and then she remembered it all—about the glass jugs that Baby had broken at home, and what he had said to her about those in the shop window being like them. "And the picture?" she said, "is it no longer there? But first, let me have my little boy. He is in the garden, you say?"
She looked round, for there was no sign of a garden. The window of the little room in which they were, looked out only on to a blank wall.
"This way, Madame," said the young woman, opening a door at the side. It led into a little dark passage, and, at the end of it, there was another door, standing open, and through this door came the sound of children's voices.
Auntie stood still a moment to listen—the first words made her smile.
"Him wants to go home now," said the well-known voice. "Little girl, why won't you listen? Him wants to go home, and so does Minet. Doesn't you hear?"
The little girl must have been very much puzzled, for auntie heard her trying her best, in her baby talk, to make this queer little stranger understand that they were to stay out in the garden till her mother called them in.
"Him wants to go home, and so does Minet," repeated poor Baby, and his voice began to quiver and shake, as if he were going to cry. Auntie could stand it no longer. She hurried out into the little garden.
"You shall go home now, Baby dear," she said. "Auntie has come to fetch you."
Baby looked up eagerly at the sound of a well-known voice. He ran to her and held up his little face for a kiss. He looked very pleased, but not at all surprised. It was one of Herr Baby's funny ways, that he almost never seemed surprised.