"I am glad to hear that. I will send a tub to your room."
"But I like this, madame."
"Come, come," she said, peremptorily, "run away. No one bathes in my tub but myself."
Narcisse had a passion for dabbling in water, and he found this dainty bathroom irresistible. "I hate you, madame," he said, flushing angrily, and stamping his foot at her. "I hate you."
Mrs. Nimmo looked admiringly past the child at his reflection in her cheval glass. What a beauty he was, as he stood furiously regarding her, his sweet, proud face convulsed, his little body trembling inside his white gown! In his recklessness he had forgotten to be polite to her, and she liked him the better for it.
"You are a naughty boy," she said, indulgently. "I cannot have you in my room if you talk like that."
Without a word Narcisse went to her dressing-table, picked up his precious photograph that he had left propped against a silver-backed brush, and turned to leave her, when she said, curiously, "Why did you tear that picture if you think so much of it?"
Narcisse immediately fell into a state of pitiable confusion, and, hanging his head, remained speechless.
"If you will say you are sorry for being rude, I will give you another one," she said, and in a luxury of delight at playing with this little soul, she raised herself on her arm and held out a hand to him.