"I own it, madame," sobbed Jeanne in her turn; "I have been too hasty; but to be called a Jesuit, when I have suffered so much by them; and then my beautiful salad, which the young master used to like so much in France—"
"Well, never mind," said my aunt. "I am sure Deborah is sorry she called you by such an ugly name; and as to the salad, I think if we can forgive the loss, you can. Come, now, let me see you shake hands and make friends, like Christian women; and let me hear of no more quarrels."
The two combatants obeyed, with a very decent grace on Deborah's side, and with considerable effusion on that of Jeanne, who adored my aunt, and, to do her justice, was always placable.
Deborah departed to her own dominions, and my aunt, going to her own room, sent for Mrs. Betty, who did not appear at dinner, and who was at least more careful in her conduct for some days, though I have reason to think her heart was little affected by her disgrace or her mother's admonitions. It was only a few days afterward that Jeanne came to her mistress again, with a humble request that she would intercede with Madame Corbet to allow her to change her room. For since my mother had been so unwell Jeanne had occupied a room at the end of the gallery leading to our apartment, which, as I have said, was somewhat separated from the rest of the house.
"Why, what is the matter with the room?" asked my mother. "I thought it a very nice one."
"And so it is madame, but—"
"But what?"
"I would rather not sleep there, madame."
"Some one has been telling you ghost stories," said I, a sudden idea coming to me. "Is it not so?"
"Ah, mamselle!" and Jeanne began to cry, as usual.