"Behold the prison of your Highness!"
When he was left alone the Count examined his surroundings. His simple chamber seemed to him sumptuous. He smelt the flowers on the mantelpiece, half suspecting that they were an attention of the young girls. The wreath suspended from the ceiling made him smile. It had been hung there in his honour, there could be no doubt about that. There was a knock on the door. Marguerite entered, followed by the farmer bringing the trunk and the osier basket.
He stopped the old servant as she was going out. "Wait a moment and help me, please."
He cut the string which held the basket and took out four bouquets as fresh as if they had just been gathered.
"See, Marguerite, the name is pinned on each bouquet; be so good as to give them to the ladies."
At half-past one the Count appeared walking up and down before the door of the dining-room. He did not want to be the first one to enter. Maurice joined him.
"I would love to see the portrait of your cousin," said Albert.
"I will show it to you after lunch."
"Is it finished?"
"Yes; but I still have some retouching to do to the background, and I shall be glad to have your advice upon it. It is not perhaps exactly necessary, yet every time that I look at it, I feel the need of some slight change."