Pierre.

A special reason?--No.

Julia.

Pierre--you're concealing something from me!

Pierre (_hesitating_).

Nothing that I know of. No.

Julia.

Why didn't you come at once? And now--why have you waited to tell me?

Pierre (_sullenly_).

You're hearing it soon enough.

Julia.

Pierre, what happened? Tell me, exactly!

Pierre.

Well, he came in the little runabout--without a groom--and asked for mamma. I naturally pretended to be going out. But you know how she always insists on my staying with her.

Julia.

And how was he was he--just the same as ever?

Pierre.

Oh, no, I wouldn't say that.

Julia.

How did he look? Tell me, tell me!

Pierre.

In the first place, he wore black gloves--like a gravedigger.

Julia.

Ha! Ha! And what else?

Pierre.

In the second place, he was everlastingly twitching his legs.

Julia.

And what else? What else?

Pierre.

Oh, he explained that you were at a Hungarian watering-place, that you were improving, and that you were expected home soon. (Julia _bursts out laughing._) Yes, (_gloomily_) it's screamingly funny, isn't it.

Julia.

So I'm at a Hungarian watering-place! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Pierre.

But he looked at me so questioningly, so--so mournfully--why, it was really most annoying the way he looked at me.

Julia.

At a Hungarian watering-place!

Pierre.

And then, later, mamma said to him, "It's a dreadful pity your dear wife isn't here just now. She does so love the roses."

Julia.

And what did he say?

Pierre.

"Our roses are not thriving very well this year," said he.

Julia.

But his turnips!--They always thrive!--And then----?

Pierre.

Then a strange thing occurred that I can't help worrying about.

Suddenly mamma said to him, "Something very peculiar is happening on our estate this year. Now I can see from where I sit that the whole place is one ma.s.s of roses. And yet, if at any time I ask for a few more than usual, there are none to be had!"

Julia.

Why, you must have been shaking in your boots! Did you do anything to betray us?

Pierre.