"Was she stung?" said grandpère. "I offered her a peach, which she deserved not. I did not know that she was stung. Mon enfant, thou art faithful and so are mes chères abeilles."
"And thou wilt see thy Ninon who weeps outside?" said Margot.
"Of a verity I will see my Ninon. What care I how many établissements Madame Marcelle keeps?"
CHAPTER XI. THUNDER STORM.
Margot had been brought up by severe and much-detested Aunt Priscilla, and by that dearly loved and holy man, Uncle Jacko, to dread a lie beyond anything in the world. Aunt Priscilla scolded her and told her of the awful fate of little girls who told lies. Uncle Jacko pursued a far gentler and more effective way.
Uncle Jacko's way prevailed. He talked of the holy children who lived in the New Jerusalem. He talked of the smiling Christ, and God, the Father, and of the Holy Spirit, who entered into the heart of the child who tried to be good. He talked very beautifully and little Margot thought him very beautiful when he did talk on this subject, and never up to the present moment had she broken her solemn word to Uncle Jacko that she would at all costs and under every circumstance keep to the truth. Nevertheless, here was she now, having broken that solemn word, having made cher grandpère St. Juste imagine that the établissement was kept by Madame Marcelle and that la belle grand'mère had nothing whatever to do with it.
Oh, it was all terrible, notwithstanding grand'mère's passionate kisses to the little girl, and notwithstanding the fact that Alphonse and his Ninon were once more priceless treasures each to the other. Margot went about with a heavy burden on her small heart. She had told grandpère St. Juste a lie—yes, yes, there was no doubt on the subject. Her spirits, so happy and high; her animation so fragrant, so delightful to watch and listen to, seemed more or less to desert her. She used to sob bitter tears at night in her little cot and long beyond words for the moment when she might confess all to Uncle Jacko.
The old grandpère noticed the difference in la petite and much wondered at it. Ninon, his wife, also noticed it and did her best, her very best, to keep the knowledge from the eyes of the adorable Alphonse. Still the fact remained—la petite was not what she was. She learnt a certain number of lessons from grandpère and enjoyed her music lessons, which la belle grand'mère supplied her with. And she worked wonderful changes in the établissement with her beautiful taste and delightful chic appearance. But still there was the lie, always the lie, resting on her white little soul.