"Mama slapped her this morning."
"Ah! then Diana is a servant?"
"Why, of course; what else could she be?"
"Well, she might be a goddess or a hound, you know," smilingly returned the old gentleman.
"When mama went to the opera, this evening," explained the little one, "she ordered Diana to take me to the children's ball at the marquis's. Instead, she brought me to this street, made me get out of the carriage, took off my silk ball-gown and all my pretty ornaments, and left me here in this doorway—I am sure I don't know why, for there is n't any music here."
"It is well she left this old shawl with you, else your mama would not have a little countess to tell the tale to-morrow," observed the elder man. Then, turning to his companion, he added in a lower tone: "What are we to do with her?"
"We can't leave her here; that would be inhuman," was the reply, in the same cautious tone.
"But we can't take her in; it would be a great risk."
"What is there to fear from an innocent prattler who cannot even remember her mother's name?"
"We might take her to the conciergerie," suggested the elder gentleman.