"No, uncle."
"The devil! that looks more serious. You went past the withy bed?"
"Yes, uncle; but I fancy the gentle shepherdess is nearer the village."
"Very good," grumbled the old Baron, with a tone of voice that made it difficult to believe he saw much good in it. "Silk petticoats and satin corsets! I wonder where the rascal finds money for such fineries for his shepherdess."
He went straight on to the Cottage of the Vines, in hopes that Babet would know something of Hector's proceedings. He found the old woman in her porch, resting from the labours of the day.
"How do you do, Babet?" said the old Baron, softening his voice like any sucking dove. "Anything new going on?"
"Nothing new, your honour," replied Babet, attempting to rise.
"Sit still," said the Baron, putting his hand kindly on the old lady's shoulder; "here's a seat for me on this basket of rushes." At this moment M. de Langevy heard the upstairs casement closed. "Oho!" he thought, "I've hit upon it at once—this is the cage where these turtles bill and coo. Have you seen my son this week, Babet?" he said aloud.
"Oh, I see him often, your honour; he often comes sporting into my paddock."
"Sporting in your preserves, Babet—a pretty sort of game."