"I am certain of it, ma petite. I am as sure as that I am a very old man and that thou art my best chérie. But now, let's talk of something cheerful. What does it matter to thee, petite, how wrong others are if thou thyself art free?"
"Nothing at all, grandpère, dear grandpère."
"Then make me laugh, my little pigeon. Turn to the merry things of life. We of the French nation are always cheerful. That is why we live so long. The gloom, it kills us, but the sunshine, behold, it gives us life. Be my sunshine now, ma petite. See, behold, make thy old grandpère laugh. It is all right and good and as it should be. Ah, my little one, but I love thee well!"
"And I love thee, grandpère, but not as well as The Desmond. Thou dost not mind?"
"I could kill The Desmond," said grandpère.
Margot burst into a peal of laughter.
"Indeed, but thou couldst not," she remarked. "Thou hast not got his height nor his strength and thou art older. I see the age in thy sunken eyes. Now I will tell thee a story très drôle."
Little Margot told her story and Madame la Comtesse listened to the childish laughter and the clear, happy, childish voice, and said to herself that there never was anybody before quite so sweet as little Margot. She must get that little conscience to prick no more.
"There is no time like the present," thought la Comtesse. "The shower has passed away and the air is fresh and here is the motor car returning, having conveyed that common English girl back to her school. I will go this very moment and speak to Madame Marcelle."
This Madame la Comtesse did, and to such purpose and with such excellent effect that she did not once upset the nerves of Madame Marcelle and came home to enjoy the society of her husband and granddaughter in the best of spirits.