Jean’s face went blank with astonishment. “You do not mean it! Why you would never be allowed, never in the world. They would never let you go!” he exclaimed.
“Don’t be stupid, Jean. They will know nothing about it. It is a secret.”
“It is not safe to go! You could not do it! You are only a little girl. It would be bad enough for me, who am a boy.” Jean enjoyed saying this very much and he felt suddenly the older and more experienced of the two. He had felt so ever since his fight with Grigge in the morning.
“I tell you that I will go. You cannot understand, for I can tell you only a little of why I am going,” she answered, frowning at him with her straight, black eyebrows which were so like the old comte’s.
“It is not safe to go. The peddler, who told us of the king’s death, said it was not safe. He said to go to Paris was to endanger one’s life!” protested Jean, his eyes growing bigger and bigger with excitement.
“The peddler said many things that were not true. Le Pont is sure that he could not have spoken the truth. No one would hurt me. I am not afraid,” she answered stoutly. “Maman and Lisle are in Paris. Have you forgotten Dian’s story about the prince in the dungeon. He has gone to help them, and so must I.”
“What could you do for them?” Jean was so deeply interested that he spoke loudly, and Marie Josephine held up her hand warningly.
“You must be silent about all this; it is to be a great secret between us.” She shook her finger at Pince Nez, who had perched himself on the top of Mother Barbette’s four-poster bed. “You are not to tell either, you naughty creature. I do not trust you. I think you are a witch in disguise!”
This seemed so funny to Jean that he fairly doubled up with laughter, rocking back and forth and chuckling loudly. He was so excited that it made him laugh all the harder and his mother, who at this moment opened the door, stood and gazed at him in astonishment.
“Why, you silly cabbage, you laugh like a clown. He is indeed a foolish feather head, is he not, Little Mademoiselle?” Mother Barbette put her arm tenderly about Marie Josephine and she hid her face on the broad, kind shoulder.