"Thou art here—thou art my own, thou wast born of my Henri. Kiss me, little one, press thy rosy lips on mine."
Little Margot did what she was told.
"My grandfather of Ireland," she said, "is much bigger than you, grandfather of France. You will not perhaps live very long."
"Ah, but mon enfant, don't say anything so shocking. Fi donc, fi donc," exclaimed the little Comtesse, bending over her beloved Alphonse and kissing him passionately, then she turned to the child. "A la bonne heure," she cried, "thou shalt have a dot that will astonish thee, and the notary has come and he will make out the amount that was promised M. Mansfield, of the English Church."
"I wish to say one thing," remarked John Mansfield. "This is the sixth of June, I will return for the child on the sixth of September, but during that time I wish her to learn."
"Ah, oui, m'sieur, certainement! What would you wish la petite Comtesse to acquire?"
"Not Latin and not Greek," interrupted Margot. "My good uncle, the holiest man in the world, teaches me those languages."
"There is a school where I will send thee, petite. There thou shalt acquire the French in all its perfection, and thou shalt learn the dancing. Ah! bravo! everything shall be as it should he. Thou must prepare for an excellent marriage, ma chère petite Comtesse."
"What is a marriage?" asked Margot.
"It is—ah, but thou must not know yet. Digest well my counsels. I shall pray to le bon Dieu for the success of votre mari, that is to be. M'sieur, you are a religieux?"