“From Paris,” returned Péron promptly; he was not shy of another child.
“From Paris?” she repeated, opening her eyes to their fullest extent; “what are you doing here, then?”
“Nothing,” the boy answered truthfully, all the while thinking more of her wonderful appearance than of her imperious questions.
The little girl stood a moment longer as if uncertain what to do, and then she stepped backward toward the door behind her, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the intruder.
“Mademoiselle!” she called loudly. “Mademoiselle Lucien!”
The portière was lifted hastily and a young woman came in answer to the summons. The little girl pointed her finger at Péron, who still stood there, embarrassed now by his situation but not knowing how to escape.
“Mademoiselle, look at that boy,” cried the child, “he must be a thief!”
“I am not!” exclaimed Péron, amazed at the accusation and resenting it with all his honest heart.
“How did you come here, then?” asked the little girl, “and what are you doing?”
“Go away, boy!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Lucien haughtily, catching hold of the child by her side. “Come, Renée!” she added, “do not go near him; there has been fever in Poissy and his clothes may be full of it!”