"Thou must never do that again, grand'mère," cried Margot.
"Do what, ma petite, my cabbage, my pigeon?"
"That was a shop, not a school. I desire to go to a school," said Margot. "I will tell M'sieur le Comte, my French grandpère."
"Thou wilt not, thou couldst not be so cruel," exclaimed her French grandmother.
"Ah, but I could and I would. I will not learn in a shop."
"Then, however am I to get thee thy dot, ma petite?" cried the Comtesse, "and thou hast a gift in that way—a gift the most marvellous. Didst thou not sell six brown hats and six brown fans to-day? Thou hast the true taste running in thy veins, ma petite."
"But you don't want me to sell hats," said Margot.
"Yes, I do, I do. Thou hast the gift. Madame confirms it. Tell not thy grandpère or he will rage—he would rage in the French fashion and that might cause la mort. Ah, ma petite, thou wilt not injure thy pauvre grandpère."
"But I do not understand," cried little Margot.
"I will put it clear to thee if thou wilt not tell thy grandpère."