Jeanne, though she did her best to hide it, was extremely nervous.  I felt her hand tremble in mine as I took it.

“Trust in God!” she whispered, and aloud:  “Open the door.”

I turned the key in the lock.  I had arranged that Madeleine should go at once to M. Mouillard and tell him that there were some strangers waiting in the garden.  But either she was not on the lookout, or she did not at once perceive us, and we had to wait a few minutes at the bottom of the lawn before any one came.

I hid myself behind the trees whose leafage concealed the wall.

M. Charnot was evidently pleased with the view before him, and turned from side to side, gently smacking his lips like an epicure.  And, in truth, my uncle’s garden was perfection; the leaves, washed by the rain, were glistening in the fulness of their verdure, great drops were falling from the trees with a silvery tinkle, the petunias in the beds were opening all their petals and wrapping us in their scent; the birds, who had been mute while the shower lasted, were now fluttering, twittering, and singing beneath the branches.  I was like one bewitched, and thought these very birds were discussing us.  The greenfinch said: 

“Old Mouillard, look!  Here’s Princess Goldenlocks at your garden gate.”

The tomtit said: 

“Look out, old man, or she’ll outwit you.”

The blackbird said: 

“I have heard of her from my grandfather, who lived in the Champs Elysees.  She was much admired there.”

The swallow said: 

“Jeanne will have your heart in the time it takes me to fly round the lawn.”

The rook, who was a bit of a lawyer, came swooping down from the cathedral tower, crying: 

“Caw, caw, caw!  Let her show cause—­cause!”

And all took up the chorus: 

“If you had our eyes, Monsieur Mouillard, you would see her looking at your study; if you had our ears, you would hear her sigh; if you had our wings, you would fly to Jeanne.”

No doubt it was this unwonted concert which attracted Madeleine’s attention.  We saw her making her way, stiffly and slowly, toward the study, which stood in the corner of the garden.

M. Mouillard’s tall figure appeared on the threshold, filling up the entire doorway.

“In the garden, did you say?  Whatever is your idea in showing clients into the garden?  Why did you let them in?”

“I didn’t let them in; they came in of themselves.”

“Then the door can’t have been shut.  Nothing is shut here.  I’ll have them coming in next by the drawing-room chimney.  What sort of people are they?”

“There’s a gentleman and a young lady whom I don’t know.”

“A young lady whom you don’t know—­a judicial separation, I’ll warrant—­it’s indecent, upon my word it is.  To think that there are people who come to me about judicial separations and bring their young ladies with them!”