"How you frightened me, you wicked fellow," said the young girl, drawing a deep breath.
"Were you really frightened, Caillette? I thought you would have got used to my exercises long ago."
"I ought to be so," pouted Caillette, pressing her hands to her fast-beating heart, "but every time I see you fly, fear seizes hold of me and I unconsciously cry aloud. Oh, Fanfaro, if an accident should happen to you—I would not survive it."
"Little sister, you are needlessly alarming yourself."
Caillette held down her pretty little head and the hot blood rushed to her velvety cheeks, while her hands nervously clutched each other.
"Caillette, what ails you?" asked Fanfaro.
"Oh—tell me, Fanfaro, why do you always call me 'little sister'?"
"Does the expression displease you, mademoiselle?" laughingly said the young man; "is it the word 'little,' or the word 'sister'?"
"I did not say the expression displeased me."