“Do you miss Dian so much?” she asked him.
He nodded, his face working as though he would cry.
“He has gone to help my brother. He told Jean and me a story about a prince. It came to him suddenly, and he told it to us. He called Lisle his prince, and he said he felt that he was in trouble.” Marie Josephine’s voice shook, and the tears sprang into her eyes in spite of herself.
Grigge sneered in the way he so often did when he spoke to his cousin Jean. He was hungry and cold. The wind whistled through his tattered coat. So that was it! Dian had gone away to help some one who had never done anything for him, who probably did not need him at all!
“Why should he go to your brother? What has he ever done for him? What have any of you ever done for us? You have done nothing but starve us! My father had to spend his nights beating the swamps so that the frogs would not disturb your people’s sleep!”
Grigge spoke so fast that he jumbled all his words together. His eyes snapped oddly in his gaunt face. He had not meant to burst out in that way. The words seemed to come almost without his knowing it. It was a bitter, dark winter. They had nothing and, he felt sure, never would have anything but bitter want. He felt jealous, too, when he saw his cousin Jean. He always had been jealous because Jean lived within the gates, and had better food than he.
Marie Josephine’s eyes were full upon him. They were filled with astonishment, but not anger. She was too interested to be angry.
“Dian maybe is risking his life! There are terrible times in Paris. We heard from the peddler that they have killed the king. Your brother is not worth as much as Dian’s staff!” Grigge went on excitedly.
Jean flung himself from the gate and pitched into Grigge before either he or Marie Josephine could think. He had been swinging back and forth and listening, and when Grigge said that Lisle was not worth as much as Dian’s staff, he was ready to spring! The two boys rolled over and over on the hard ground. Jean knew that he was getting the worst of it, but he did not mind. He was fighting for the Little Mademoiselle, and he gloried in it. Let her say again that he was only a baby, and that he would never grow up! She would see that he could avenge her! She would see that no one could insult her brother in his presence, even if he were only little Jean!
Marie Josephine’s voice rang out sharply in the clear, frosty air.