It was upon her acquaintances that Ralph placed the blame when she erred. Fanchette was one of these—the dame of a student from Bretagne, a worldly, plotting, masculine woman—the only one whom he permitted to visit her. It was Fanchette who loaned her money when she was indolent, and who prompted her to ask favors beyond his means.
Toward the end of every month Ralph's money ran out, and then he was petulant and often upbraided her. Those were the only times when he essayed to study, and he would not walk with her of evenings, so destitute. Then Fanchette amused her: "Sew in my room," she would say; "Ralph will come for you at eight o'clock." But Ralph never went, and Fanchette poisoned his little girl's mind.
"When will you leave Paris, baby?" said Suzette one evening, as she returned from her friend's and found him sitting moodily by the fire.
"Very soon," he replied crisply; "that is, if ever I have money or resolution enough to start."
"Won't you take me with you, little one?"
"No!"
"You don't love me any more!"
"Pish!"
"Kiss me, my boy!"
"Oh, go away, you bother me—you always bother me when my money is low. Haven't I told you about it before?"