"Which was that?"
"The day you gave me shelter, after my mother's death. Did not the good action give you satisfaction and make you happy for the day?"
"Well, if you call that a happy day—I want no more like it."
"Why?"
"It was rather one of my worst days!"
"Oh! godmother!" expostulated the girl sadly.
"Since my wretched husband's death, I had but myself to care for; but in taking charge of you, it was like being left a widow with a child to support. I call that anything but gay, when a woman can scarcely earn her own living. But you looked so charming with your pretty curly head and large blue eyes, and you seemed so sad kneeling beside your mother's coffin, that I had not the heart to let them take you to the asylum. And what a dreary night I spent, wondering what I would do with you, and what would become of you if work failed me! And you call that a happy day? No, no! Had I been in comfortable circumstances, I would have felt that your future was assured and been happy. But to merely exchange your misery for worse still was nothing to rejoice over."
"Well, let us say no more about days," said Mariette soothingly, smiling through her tears, "but let us speak of moments; for I am determined to show that you have experienced some happiness. Now, for instance, take this moment—"
"Well, what of it?"
"I am sure that you are happy to see that I have dried my tears, thanks to your kind words."