'But mamma's an exception; she says so. And she says it's very hard to work as she does, and be good too.'
I could scarcely help laughing, though it was pretty to see how innocently the young girl had taken the querulous speech.
'Well, and then I'm a man, and I don't have to work.'
'Perhaps that's why you're so good.'
I was so utterly astonished at this naïve speech that I had nothing to say. The blood rushed to the girl's face; she was afraid she had been rude.
'How do you know that I am good, Babiole?' I asked gently.
But this was taxing her penetration too much.
'I don't know,' she answered shyly.
'Why do you think people are better when they don't work?'
She looked at me, and was reassured that I was not offended.