"Oh!" cried Mireille. "Not much of a car to lend to a king! Surely he has better ones himself."
"We all give what we have in time of war," said her father. "Come, I will carry you, my little bird," he said, and lifted her up again.
"What is the matter? Why are you so affectionate?" asked Mireille, nestling comfortably in his arms and patting his broad back with her small hand.
Chérie laughed and looked up adoringly at her big brother. "Is he not always affectionate?" she asked.
"Not so dreadfully," replied Mireille, in her matter-of-fact tones; and then they all three laughed.
Frieda, hurrying behind them in the dark with the books, the parasols, and the tennis-rackets, hated them for their laughter.
Louise Brandès, a slim white figure in the moonlight, awaited them at the door. She kissed Mireille and Chérie and greeted Frieda kindly; then she made them all drink hot milk and sent them to bed.
"But I want to tell papa about how I can almost swim and nearly ride a bicycle," said Mireille, sidling up to her father.
"You shall tell him tomorrow, my darling," said Louise.