“Oh, no,” said Victoire; “it is of great consequence—I must see her myself; and she is so good, and you too, Monsieur François, that I am sure you will not refuse.”
“Well, I remember one day you found the seal of my watch, which I dropped at your school-room door—one good turn deserves another. If it is possible, it shall be done—I will inquire of madame’s woman.”—“Follow me up stairs,” said he, returning in a few minutes; “madame will see you.”
She followed him up the large staircase, and through a suite of apartments sufficiently grand to intimidate her young imagination.
“Madame est dans son cabinet. Entrez—mais entrez done, entrez toujours.”
Mad. de Fleury was more richly dressed than usual; and her image was reflected in the large looking-glass, so that at the first moment Victoire thought she saw many fine ladies, but not one of them the lady she wanted.
“Well, Victoire, my child, what is the matter?”
“Oh, it is her voice!—I know you now, madame, and I am not afraid—not afraid even to tell you how foolish I have been. Sister Frances trusted me to carry for you, madame, a beautiful pot of jonquils, and she desired me not to stop on the way to stare; but I did stop to look at the lamps on the bridge, and I forgot the jonquils, and somebody brushed by me, and threw them into the river—and I am very sorry I was so foolish.”
“And I am very glad that you are so wise as to tell the truth, without attempting to make any paltry excuses. Go home to Sister Frances, and assure her that I am more obliged to her for making you such an honest girl than I could be for a whole bed of jonquils.”
Victoire’s heart was so full that she could not speak—she kissed Mad. de Fleury’s hand in silence, and then seemed to be lost in contemplation of her bracelet.
“Are you thinking, Victoire, that you should be much happier, if you had such bracelets as these?—Believe me, you are mistaken if you think so; many people are unhappy, who wear fine bracelets; so, my child, content yourself.”