And anon she rose.
Monsieur Vignevielle's steps were bent toward the more central part of the town, and he was presently passing along a high, close, board-fence, on the right hand side of the way, when, just within this enclosure, and almost overhead, in the dark boughs of a large orange-tree, a mocking-bird began the first low flute-notes of his all-night song.

It may have been only the nearness of the songster that attracted the passer's attention, but he paused and looked up.
And then he remarked something more,--that the air where he had stopped was filled with the overpowering sweetness of the night-jasmine.

He looked around; it could only be inside the fence.

There was a gate just there.

Would he push it, as his wont was?
The grass was growing about it in a thick turf, as though the entrance had not been used for years.