o; farther still, across the river, the heights of San
Miniato al Monte, Bellosguardo, and Mont' Oliveto, cypress crowned.

Two white rough-coated sheep-dogs came rushing up the steps from the
garden to greet Olive with sharp barks of joy, and Hilaire was not
slow to follow. Olive still thought him very like his brother, an
older and greyer Jean.

"I have been so looking forward to showing you the garden," he said
hurriedly in his kind eagerness to put her at her ease. "There are
still a few late chrysanthemums, and you will find blue and white
violets in the grass by the sundial."

They passed down the steps together and through the green twilight of
the orange groves, and came to a little fountain in the midst of a
space of lawn set about with laurels. Hilaire threw a biscuit into
the pool, and the dark water gleamed with silver and gold as the fish
rushed at it.

"I flatter myself that all the living things in this garden know me,"
he said. "I bar the plainer kinds of insects and scorpions, of course;
but the small green lizards are charming, aren't they?"

"Mamie Whittaker had one on a gold chain. She used to wear it
sometimes."

"She would," he said drily. "The young savage! Better go naked than
torture harmless things."

"This place is perfect," sighed Olive; and then, "You have no home in
France?"

"We should have; but our great-grandfather was guillotined in Paris
during the Terror, and his wife and child came to England. Years
later, when they might have gone back they would not. Why should they?
Napoleon had given the Avenel estates to one of his ruffians, who had
since seceded to the Bourbon and so made all secure. Besides, they
were happy enough. Marie Louis Hilaire gave music lessons, and the
Marquise scrubbed and cooked and patched their clothes--she, who had
been the Queen's friend, and so they managed to keep the little home
together. Presently the young man married, and then Jean Marie
appeared on the scene. We have a picture of him at the age of five, in
a nankeen frock and a frill. Our mother was a Hungarian--hence Jean's
music, I suppose--and there is Romany blood on that side. These are
our antecedents. You will not be surprised at our vagaries now?"

Olive smiled. "No, I shall remember the red heels of Versailles,
English bread and butter, and the gipsy caravan."

"Jean has fetched your books from the Monte di Pieta. Marietta found
the tickets in your coat pocket. You don't mind?"

L