One Marquise, the Marquise Clotilde, insisted on his taking her arm; the Marquise Rose walked at his other side. He forgot his peach garden in the pleasure of talking to them. He called them _très douce et très belle_. He had not the faintest suspicion that they were the withered and ugly _gouvernantes_ whom he had turned away with scorn a little while ago.
"Ah, but I must call on your esteemed father, Marquise Clotilde. He is younger than I am, alas, but I will call, _certainement_; and for you, _ma belle_ Rose, let me see if I can give you something as ravishing out of my garden as those roses which you wear in your chapeau."
"Did you ever see a chapeau more _très belle_?" said the Marquise Rose.
"It is of the most perfect," said the old Comte.
"There is a wondrous lady who sells these things," said Marquise Clotilde. "She sells them at an _établissement_ kept by a certain Madame Marcelle. We buy our things there. We have reconstructed ourselves since we came to Arles. The young m'selle, _si jeune et si belle_, does better for us than any of the Parisian _magasins_."
"I can scarcely believe that," said le Comte.
"Will you not come with us, M. le Comte, and see for yourself? Our car waits your orders. The air is of the spring, reviving with its mildness. Get in, M'sieur, get in. We will take you in a flash to the _établissement_, and you will see _la belle petite_ with the taste so superb. Afterwards we will go and visit _mon père_."
The old Comte felt in a mood for adventure. These demoiselles were very charming, and he would like himself to see _la petite_ who had the taste so rare and simple.
Accordingly he went as far as the house, leaning now on the arm of the Marquise Rose, but holding the hand of the Marquise Clotilde. He desired his valet to clothe him in his coat of fur and to place at his feet a hot bottle. The automobile was closed by his desire. _Les jeunes_ demoiselles nearly fainted with the heat, but their task would soon be over; their revenge would be complete and their reward would be in their hands.
They chattered all the way with the gay prattle of young birds. The very old Comte thought how delightful was youth; he was glad, very glad, to meet his own relations.