"I was not there at all to-day, grandpère."
"Ah, ma petite, but wast thou there yesterday?"
"Mais oui," said Margot.
"And didst thou perchance see the little wonder?"
"I saw her; she is not a wonder."
"Ah, ma petite, be thou not of the jealous ones!" said the old man. "That would not be worthy of thee. Thou hast thy gifts; she has hers. Her chapeaux, they are perfect. Her taste, it is what I never saw before. Tell me about her, chérie."
"I will," said Margot, "if thou, mon grandpère, will let me put both of my hands round one of thine, and if thou wilt promise not to—not to turn me away afterwards."
"Turn thee away, best beloved, it couldn't be."
"Ah, but it might be," said little Margot. "There is a burden on thy mind; there is a—I call it not a fear, but it approaches in the direction of a fear. La petite who sells les chapeaux, les robes and all the other articles of refinement in the établissement, is thine own Margot. Dost thou hear me? I will not keep it back from thee any longer. La pauvre belle grand'mère thought that it was best for thee not to know, but there are cruel people in the world who tried to tell thee, but failed, so now I tell thee. The ladies who came here yesterday were of the cruel sort; the girl in the grass-green hat was of the cruel sort; but thy Margot—thy Margot—mon grandpère, art thou angry?"
"With thee? Mais non—non!" His face was whiter than ever; he could scarcely swallow. After a little he seemed to gather strength.