"Thou art not like The Desmond, grandpère," said little Margot. "The Desmond would not mind anything so trifling as a shop."
"Ah, ma petite, ma petite," exclaimed the old Comte, and now he burst into floods of tears.
Margot knelt by him and wiped his tears away very gently.
"That flow of tears will give thee relief," she said. "Thou wilt be better, ah, better! Let me arrange pour vous, grandpère. I like putting the mighty from their seats. Oh, grandpère, I have such a beautiful story to tell thee!"
The old man ceased crying, and looked at the little Comtesse with wondering eyes.
"Perhaps it is a lie," he said.
"Of course," said Margot, "there is a shop—but it is not thy shop. It belongs to Madame Marcelle."
"And not to my Ninon—oh, thank the God Almighty!"
"I help Madame Marcelle a little while I am learning of the French tongue, si belle—that is all. Thou wilt not forbid it. Thy Ninon, ma belle grand'mère, is crying her eyes out at the thought of hurting thee, but it was done by those wicked girls. Behold I was in the établissement, and I have got—ah, the taste magnifique! and the farmers' wives—some very red, some very thin, came in to be suited with robes. Ah, but they were of the most superb that I did show them, and I suited the taste of each. I made the fat, red one to look thin and pale and elegant, ah oui, and the thin one I gave her a good figure and I chose chapeaux the most suitable. And I put into the pocket of Madame Marcelle three thousand francs this morning. For they are rich, these wives of farmers, and they pay as they go. But Dorothy, la petite chatte, and Hébé, they came in and they wanted me to leave my farmers' wives and attend to them. They meant, doubtless, grandpère, to run up a long bill and keep it going—going—going, so I said I would have nothing to do with them because I love them not and I do love the wives of the farmers. Then they were angry and they came here to see thee, mon grandpère, and behold, Dorothy, she was stung by thy bees. It served her right, didn't it, grandpère?"