“Yes, madame, it’s his day; he’s a little late, for it’s after half-past seven.—But wait! I think I hear him now.”
The old peasant entered the garden with the basket on his arm in which he always carried his gardening tools.
“Tutu—tutu—turlututu! I’m a trifle late; a tenant of mine is the cause of it.”
“Have you a tenant, Père Ledrux?”
“Yes, only since a couple of days. I don’t think he’ll stay here long; I don’t know what he’s up to, but he goes in and out all the time. He’s a fine gentleman. Oh! yes, he’s one of the swells! I thought at first he’d come down for the fête at the Bellevilles; but no, he didn’t go to it; and yet it seems he knows ‘em.”
“Ah! do you think so?”
“Yes, yes, he knows ‘em well.—I think I’ll water these beds a little; they’re dry as can be!”
“Do so, Père Ledrux.”
In a few moments the gardener returned to the two friends with his watering pot.
“Tutu—turlututu.—After all, my tenant did just as well not to go to that party—at the goldfish place.”