“Maman?” she begin timidly. “Petite maman?”
Diane turned round.
“Cherie, is it thou?”
She kneeled up on the hearthrug and, taking the child in her arms, searched her face with dry, bright eyes.
“Baby,” she said. “Listen! And when thou art older, remember always what I have said.”
Magda stared at her, listening intently.
“Never, never give your heart to any man,” continued Diane. “If you do, he will only break it for you—break it into little pieces like the glass scent-bottle which you dropped yesterday. Take everything. But do not give—anything—in return. Will you remember?”
And Magda answered her gravely.
“Oui, maman, I will remember.”
What happened after that remained always a confused blur in Magda’s memory—a series of pictures standing out against a dark background of haste and confusion, and whispered fears.