He took the hand of the unresisting girl and led her to her aunt, whose arm glided round Annette's waist, holding it as in a vice.
"I will not answer you," said Basil, with an encouraging smile at Annette, whose face instantly brightened. "Annette knows I have spoken the truth, and that is enough."
"Yes, Basil," said Annette, boldly, "you have spoken the truth, and I will never, never forget what you have said to me to-day."
"Take her away," said Gilbert Bidaud to his sister; "the farce is played out. In a week it will be forgotten."
"Good-bye, Basil," said Annette "and God bless you."
"Good-bye, Annette," said Basil, "and God guard you."
"How touching, how touching!" murmured Gilbert Bidaud. "It is surely a scene from an old comedy. Take her away."
"Just one moment, please," said Old Corrie, joining the group. "Here is something that belongs to the little lady, that she would like to take with her to the new world. It will remind her of the old, and of friends she leaves in it."
It was the magpie in its wicker cage, whose tongue being loosened by company, or perhaps by a desire to show off its accomplishments to an appreciative audience, became volubly communicative.
"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!"
In his heart Gilbert Bidaud was disposed to strangle the bird, but his smile was amiability itself as he said to Annette, "Yours, my child?"
"Yes, mine," she answered. "Mr. Corrie gave it to me."
"But Mr. Corrie is not rich," said Gilbert Bidaud, pulling out his purse; "you are. Shall we not pay him for it?"
"No," said Annette, before Old Corrie could speak. "I would not care for it if he took money for it."
"Well said, little lady," said Old Corrie; "the bird is friendship's offering, and for that will be valued and well cared for, I don't doubt. It is your property, mind, and no one has a right to meddle with it."
"Friendship's offering!" said Gilbert Bidaud, with a long, quiet laugh. "We came out to the bush to learn something, did we not, sister? Why, here we find the finest of human virtues and sentiments, the smuggest of moralities, the essence of refined feeling. It is really refreshing. Do not be afraid, Mr. Corrie. Although I would not take your word about that wood-splitting contract, I have some respect for you, as a rough specimen of bush life and manners. We part friends, I hope."