On a certain occasion, la belle grand'mère found la petite Comtesse in floods of tears.
"What is it, ma chérie petite?" she exclaimed. "Oh, très drôle, Oh ma petite, c'est drôle, to see the tears flow for no reason!"
"But there is reason, grand'mère," said little Margot. "I have told a black, black lie."
"Thou! Ce n'est pas possible!"
"But I have, ma grand'mère. I did it for thee, because thy trouble was so great. Mon grandpère, he thinks that the établissement belongs to Madame Marcelle. I got him to think so and he was contented. Oh, my heart, it is broken, it is broken! Grand'mère, my heart is broken in little bits. Canst thou not see?"
Grand'mère burst into a low sweet laugh, not an angry laugh by any means, but one that puzzled la petite Margot not a little.
"Thou hast a genuine worship of the beautiful," she cried. "Thou dost help Madame Marcelle in her établissement. For me, my fears are at an end. Why dost thou weep, ma petite? Oh, les belles robes et chapeaux that thou dost make the old women buy. No one else could do it but thee! The beautiful costumes thou dost give them, at the highest rates. Wherever does the lie come in, ma petite?"
"Oh, belle grand'mère," said little Margot, "thou dost know the shop is thine."