"I mean to spend the entire night with grandpère," she said. "Weep not, ma belle grand'mère. He got a shock, and only I can keep him from being puzzled by the two names—the two names twice over. I will go to him, ma belle grand'mère."
"Yes, go, my blessed child," said the little Madame; and she felt at that moment that even the dot for Margot, and her établissement, were as nothing compared to mon Alphonse—mon Alphonse the adorable, the love of her life.
CHAPTER XXI. THE PALACE OF TRUTH.
In the morning, the old Comte St. Juste was less feverish, but nevertheless not himself. He had, as he complained, a confused feeling. The world was full of Roses—oh, the most charmantes—and of Clotildes equally divine. They were coming up the avenue in automobiles, they were entering the room, they were sitting with him, they were pouring into his ear the fact that his mission was not accomplished. He had gone to the établissement, but he had not seen the little wonder. He could not rest until he saw her. In vain Margot tried to soothe him. She longed beyond words to quiet his mind by telling him the simple truth—that she was la petite, she was the little wonder of the établissement Marcelle. But when she hinted at such a proceeding to la belle grand'mère, that poor woman gave a cry of bitter horror.
"Thou wilt kill mon Alphonse; thou wilt not be so cruel, thou canst not be so cruel."
"Ah, but I ought, I ought," sobbed Margot.
Madame la grand'mère consulted with the doctor.