Narcisse drew back his lips at her as if he had been a small dog. "Madame," he faltered, tapping his teeth, "these did it, but I stopped them."
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Nimmo, and a horrible suspicion entered her mind.
"Narcisse was hungry—in the boat—" stammered the boy. "He nibbled but a little of the picture. He could not bite the Englishman long."
Mrs. Nimmo shuddered. She had never been hungry in her life. "Come here, you poor child. You shall have a bath in my room as soon as I finish. Give me a kiss."
Narcisse's sensitive spirit immediately became bathed with light. "Shall I kiss you as your son the Englishman kissed my mother?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Nimmo, bravely, and she held out her arms.
"But you must not do so," said Narcisse, drawing back. "You must now cry, and hide your face like this,"—and his slender, supple fingers guided her head into a distressed position,—"and when I approach, you must wave your hands."
"Did your mother do that?" asked Mrs. Nimmo, eagerly.
"Yes,—and your son lifted her hand like this," and Narcisse bent a graceful knee before her.
"Did she not throw her arms around his neck and cling to him?" inquired the lady, in an excess of jealous curiosity.