"I am going to be your little pupil, grandpère," said Margot, raising her beautiful eyes to the old man's face.
"Eh, what," he exclaimed, "eh, what? I thought you were at the school of Madame la Princesse."
"I don't like that school, mon cher grandpère. I don't like the girls there. I want you to teach me, yes, you! You can, you know, you know an awful lot."
"I don't know anything, little fledgling," answered grandpère. "What I did learn, I have forgotten. I am an old man on the brink of eternity. It is not given to me to teach even one so douce as thou, mon ange."
"But can we not read poetry together?" said Margot. "I know you are terribly old, grandpère; you are much—much older than The Desmond. Oh, but The Desmond he is magnifique—so big—so tall—so broad, his beard long and white as the snow! And his hair white as the snow! But his eyes are somewhat like yours, grandpère, only they don't go in so deep in his head. Yes, thou art old, mon grandpère, but still thou canst teach thy little Margot. One hour a day; say it is done!"
"But what shall I teach, my pretty?"
"How to talk the beautiful French tongue like thyself. Surely that will not be difficile. It will be to thee nothing, thou learned man; très bien—ah, but I cannot say all the words I want! But thou canst do it, mon grandpère!"
"Only for one hour a day, my Margot. But listen! understand! believe! We must not stay any longer than one hour over the French, si belle, for it would fatigue the old man."
"After that I will teach thee the Irish language," said Margot, her eyes sparkling. "I will teach thee, and thou wilt laugh—oh, how thou wilt laugh!"
"Thou art a très bonne petite enfant," said the old man. "I like to have thee near me, close to my side. For one hour each day, from two to three, we will talk that language the most elegant in the wide world, and after that I will lie back on my pillows of down and thou shalt tell me things to make me laugh, and laugh again, ma petite."