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“See. This is the boy.”

“Jesu! Jesu!” shrieked the servant. “He’s a ragamuffin! Whatever put it into madame’s head to bring such a tramp into the house?”

Before such an outburst as this, although it was spoken in the most mellifluous and languid of tones, Manuel stood paralyzed.

“You’ve terrified the lad,” exclaimed the baroness, bursting into loud laughter.

“But Your Grace must be mad,” muttered the servant.

“Hush! Hush! Not so much noise. Get some soap and water ready for him and have him wash up.”

The mulattress left, and the baroness scrutinized Manuel closely.

“So the man told you what you’ve come here for?”

“Yes, he told me something.”

“And are you willing?”

“Yes, I am, Señora.”

“Good. You’re a philosopher. I’m quite satisfied. And what have you done up to now?”

Manuel recounted his adventures, drawing a little upon his imagination, and entertained the baroness for a while.

“Fine. Don’t say a word to anybody, understand?... And now go and wash yourself.”

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The Baroness de Aynant, Her Dogs and Her Mulattress Companion—Wherein is Prepared a Farce