“I think you’re very, very unkind,” said Minnie, “and I really don’t see how I can ever speak to you again.”

This was too much.  Girasole turned away.  He rushed down stairs.  He wandered frantically about.  He looked in all directions for a chair.  There was plenty of wood certainly—­for all around he saw the vast forest—­but of what use was it?  He could not transform a tree into a chair.  He communicated his difficulty to some of the men.  They shook their heads helplessly.  At last he saw the stump of a tree which was of such a shape that it looked as though it might be used as a seat.  It was his only resource, and he seized it.  Calling two or three of the men, he had the stump carried to the old house.  He rushed up stairs to acquaint Minnie with his success, and to try to console her.  She listened in coldness to his hasty words.  The men who were carrying the stump came up with a clump and a clatter, breathing hard, for the stump was very heavy, and finally placed it on the landing in front of Minnie’s door.  On reaching that spot it was found that it would not go in.

Minnie heard the noise and came out.  She looked at the stump, then at the men and then at Girasole.

“What is this for?” she asked.

“Eet—­eet ees for a chair.”

“A chair!” exclaimed Minnie.  “Why, it’s nothing but a great big, horrid, ugly old stump, and—­”

Her remarks ended in a scream.  She turned and ran back into the room.

“What—­what is de mattaire?” cried the Count, looking into the room with a face pale with anxiety.

“Oh, take it away! take it away!” cried Minnie, in terror.

“What? what?”

“Take it away! take it away!” she repeated.

“But eet ees for you—­eet ees a seat.”

“I don’t want it.  I won’t have it!” cried Minnie.  “It’s full of horrid ants and things.  And it’s dreadful—­and very, very cruel in you to bring them up here just to tease me, when you know I hate them so.  Take it away! take it away! oh, do please take it away!  And oh, do please go away yourself, and leave me with dear, darling Kitty. She never teases me.  She is always kind.”

Girasole turned away once more, in fresh trouble.  He had the stump carried off, and then he wandered away.  He was quite at a loss what to do.  He was desperately in love, and it was a very small request for Minnie to make, and he was in that state of mind when it would be a happiness to grant her slightest wish; but here he found himself in a difficulty from which he could find no possible means of escape.

“And now, Kitty darling,” said Minnie, after Girasole had gone—­“now you see how very, very wrong you were to be so opposed to that dear, good, kind, nice Rufus K. Gunn. He would never have treated me so. He would never have taken me to a place like this—­a horrid old house by a horrid damp pond, without doors and windows, just like a beggar’s house—­and then put me in a room without a chair to sit on when I’m so awfully tired.  He was always kind to me, and that was the reason you hated him so, because you couldn’t bear to have people kind to me.  And I’m so tired.”