"Yes. And she says the circus isn't a good place for a young girl. But I say if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me. Anyway, if mamma doesn't let me do what Blanche does, I'm going on the stage when I grow up."
Jules was amused by her talk, and drew her out by deft questions. While she was animatedly describing her life in the convent of Boulogne, where the nuns were always holding up Louise as a model of good behavior to her, dinner was announced, and they all went out into the dining-room, where Jules and Blanche had passed so many hours together. This time Jules' place was between Jeanne and Louise. Jeanne went on with her chatter, and Louise scarcely spoke, save to Blanche, with whom she kept exchanging affectionate smiles.
"The girls are vexed with me," said Madame Perrault, "because I won't let them go to the Circus to-night."
The pale face of Louise brightened with eagerness and Jeanne turned to her mother and cried pleadingly:
"Oh, I think it's a shame. The first time we've been in Paris, too, and we want to see Blanche perform again so much! Why can't we go, mamma? Please, please let us go."
"Oh, let the children go," said Monsieur Berthier good-naturedly. "It would be cruel to send them to bed early their first night in Paris."
Then Jules added his voice in the girls' behalf, but Madame Perrault shook her head decidedly.
"I can't have them up so late. Besides, they need to rest after their journey. If you are good, Jeanne, and don't tease me to go to-night, I'll take you and Louise to the matinée on Saturday."
"Oh, the matinée!" Jeanne pouted, turning for sympathy to Jules. "Who cares for the matinée! Isn't it too bad?" she went on in a low voice, so that her mother shouldn't hear her. "When I grow up, Monsieur Jules, I shall go to the theatre every night—yes, every night of my life. I don't care what happens."
Jeanne was sullen and Louise looked sad when they were left alone with Charlotte, the little maid.