ou want to see him."

And she bawled out:

"Monsieur Duchoux--a call."

The baron entered, and in a spacious apartment, rendered dark by the
windows being half-closed, he indistinctly traced out persons and things,
which appeared to him very slovenly looking.

Standing in front of a table laden with articles of every sort, a little
bald man was tracing lines on a large sheet of paper.

He interrupted his work, and advanced two steps. His waistcoat left open,
his unbuttoned breeches, and his turned-up shirt-sleeves, indicated that
he felt hot, and his muddy shoes showed that it had rained hard some days
before.

He asked with a very pronounced southern accent:

"Whom have I the honor of--?"

"Monsieur Merlin--I came to consult you about a purchase of
building-ground."

"Ha! ha! very well!"

And Duchoux, turning towards his wife, who was knitting in the shade:

"Clear off a chair, Josephine."

Mordiane then saw a young woman, who appeared already old, as women look
old at twenty-five in the provinces, for want of attention to their
persons, regular washing, and all the little cares bestowed on feminine
toilet which make them fresh, and preserve, till the age of fifty, the
charm and beauty of the sex. With a neckerchief over her shoulders, her
hair clumsily braided--though it was lovely hair, thick and black, you
could see that it was badly brushed--she stretched out towards a chair
hands like those of a servant, and removed an infant's robe, a knife, a
fag-end of packe-bread, an empty flower-pot, and a greasy plate left on
the seat, which she then moved over towards the visitor.

He sat down, and presently noticed that Duchoux's work-table had on it,
in addition to the books and papers, two salads recently gathered, a
wash-hand basin, a hair-brush, a napkin, a revolver, and a number of cups
which had not been cleaned.

The architect perceived this look, and said with a smile:

"Excuse us! there is a little disorder in the room--it is owing to the
children."

And he drew across his chair, in order to chat with his client.

"So then you are looking out for a piece of ground in the neighborhood of
Marseilles?"

His breath, though not close to the baron, carried towards the latter
that odor of garlic which the people of the South exhale as flowers do
their perfume.

Mordiane asked:

"Is it your son that I met under the plane-trees?"

"Yes. Yes, the second."

"You have two of them?"

"Three, mon