“Have you found them?” inquired Raymond.
“I don’t know where she is; people are asking for her; ordinarily, I am not called upon to interfere in anything.”
“My wife, who is not here to do the honors of the fête.”
“Parbleu! Madame de Marsan can’t be lost; she’ll turn up; but my two Cupids—I am more anxious about them; for I must give them back to their mother, who is not Venus; and she’ll break one of her little pitchers over my head if her brats are not found. Let us search the gardens together; the little rascals must be somewhere here.”
Monsieur de Marsan followed Raymond, hoping to find his wife rather than the two little fugitives. They walked through part of the garden, and Monsieur de Marsan proposed to return to his guests, feeling sure that his wife must be with them; but Raymond detained him, telling him that he, Marsan, was responsible for the Cupids, as they were lost on his premises. They drew near the swing, which was close to the clump of trees where I was playing my scene with Madame de Marsan.
“They are over in this direction,” said Raymond; “I hear the swing moving; I was sure that my little blackguards were amusing themselves.”
They reached the swing, but saw nothing.
“There’s no one here, you see,” said Monsieur de Marsan.
“It’s strange,” said Raymond; “I still hear the same noise. Why—it’s in this direction—in the thicket! What the devil are they doing there?”