Chapter 7

Old M. Pigeonneau had more than once proposed to me to take a walk,
but I had hitherto been unable to respond to so alluring an
invitation. It befell, however, one afternoon, that I perceived him
going forth upon a desultory stroll, with a certain lonesomeness of
demeanour that attracted my sympathy. I hastily overtook him, and
passed my hand into his venerable arm, a proceeding which produced in
the good old man so jovial a sense of comradeship that he ardently
proposed we should bend our steps to the English Garden; no locality
less festive was worthy of the occasion. To the English Garden,
accordingly, we went; it lay beyond the bridge, beside the lake. It
was very pretty and very animated; there was a band playing in the
middle, and a considerable number of persons sitting under the small
trees, on benches and little chairs, or strolling beside the blue
water. We joined the strollers, we observed our companions, and
conversed on obvious topics. Some of these last, of course, were the
pretty women who embellished the scene, and who, in the light of M.
Pigeonneau's comprehensive criticism, appeared surprisingly numerous.
He seemed bent upon our making up our minds as to which was the
prettiest, and as this was an innocent game I consented to play at
it.

Suddenly M. Pigeonneau stopped, pressing my arm with the liveliest
emotion. "La voila, la voila, the prettiest!" he quickly murmured,
"coming toward us, in a blue dress, with the other." It was at the
other I was looking, for the other, to my surprise, was our
interesting fellow-pensioner, the daughter of a vigilant mother. M.
Pigeonneau, meanwhile, had redoubled his exclamations; he had
recognised Miss Sophy Ruck. "Oh, la belle rencontre, nos aimables
convives; the prettiest girl in the world, in effect!"

We immediately greeted and joined the young ladies, who, like
ourselves, were walking arm in arm and enjoying the scene.

"I was citing you with admiration to my friend even before I had
recognised you," said M. Pigeonneau to Miss Ruck.

"I don't believe in French compliments," remarked this young lady,
presenting her back to the smiling old man.

"Are you and Miss Ruck walking alone?" I asked of her companion.
"You had better accept of M. Pigeonneau's gallant protection, and of
mine."

Aurora Church had taken her hand out of Miss Ruck's arm; she looked
at me, smiling, with her head a little inclined, while, upon her
shoulder, she made her open parasol revolve. "Which is most
improper--to walk alone or to walk with gentlemen? I wish to do what
is most improper."

"What mysterious logic governs your conduct?" I inquired.