Marie Josephine still stood by the fire, Flambeau beside her. She looked at her brother as he spoke.
“Proté cannot do everything at once,” he said. He sat in the deep shadow of the window seat at the far end of the room, his hands clasped about his knees.
Denise smiled at him over her shoulder as she answered: “You know nothing about these things, Lisle. You have nothing to do about them, but sit and look on. All that concerns you regarding them is that you are to wear the robe and crown at the De Soignés’ ball!”
“Ball! You speak as though you were going to a ball. You are only two years older than Rosanne and I. There is no reason why we should not have been invited. I should think they would be ashamed to leave Rosanne out of it all!” exclaimed Marie Josephine.
“Little Mademoiselle would like, perhaps, to make a bow for her hair? A rosette of this rose brocade and a bit of the gold tinsel would become her,” suggested Proté, tying a neat knot in a corner of the piece of black cardboard which Hortense had handed her.
Marie Josephine shook her head. “No, Proté,” she answered.
Flambeau came up to Denise and nosed at the bits of ribbon in her lap. Denise gave his head a pat.
“Would you not like Flambeau to have a big rose bow? Greyhounds always look better with bows,” she said.
Marie Josephine shook her head listlessly, but did not speak. A big rose bow would be charming for Flambeau, a puffy one under his right ear. She was not invited to the De Soigné party, therefore she would not appear to be interested in any of the glittering array on the table. She caught her brother’s eyes. His head was thrown back against the dark, carved-oak window settle. He was looking straight at Marie Josephine, and she saw that he was smiling. She frowned at him with her straight black brows, and he frowned back with his straight fair ones. Marie Josephine’s frown was in earnest, but her brother’s was in fun.
“What a thundercloud! What a dragon! What an ogress! What a——”