“So you have hopes,” I said at length, “that Marguerite . . .”
But he was a stubborn little old fellow.
He murmured as he walked away: “The Will’s crowning Victory is Love.”
And I stood and watched him as he departed with little quick steps, beating time to a tune that was running in his head.
I went quickly back to the château and found little Marguerite. The moment I saw her, I realized that she had the will to live. She was still very pale and very thin, but her eyes had more colour in them and were not so big, and her lips, lately so dead-looking and so silent, were gay with prattling talk.
“You are late,” she said. “Come here, see! I have a theatre and actors. Play me a beautiful piece. They say that ‘Hop o’ my Thumb’ is nice. Play ‘Hop o’ my Thumb’ for me.”
You may be sure I did not refuse. However, I encountered great difficulties at the very outset of my undertaking. I pointed out to Marguerite that the only actors she had were princes and princesses, and that we wanted woodmen, cooks and a certain number of folks of all sorts.
She thought for a moment and then said: