"See, see," she exclaimed, darting back again to the old lady, and flourishing her treasure-trove, "that's what I mean! We must have a bath," raising her voice as she went on; "we must be washed and sponged;" and suiting the action to the word she proceeded to pat and rub Roger with the dry sponge, glancing up at Madame Nestor to see if the pantomime was understood.
"Ah, yes, to be sure," Madame Nestor exclaimed, her face lighting up, "I understand now, my little lady. All in good time—you shall have water to wash your face and hands as soon as you are dressed. But let me get this poor little man's things on quickly. It is cold this morning."
She began to take off Roger's nightgown and to draw on his little flannel vest, to which he would have made no objection, but Gladys got scarlet with vexation.
"No, no," she cried, "he must be washed first. If you haven't got a bath, you might anyway let us have a basin and some water. Roger, you are a dirty boy. You might join me, and then perhaps she'd do it."
Thus adjured, Roger rose to the occasion. He slipped off Madame Nestor's knee, and stepping out of his nightgown began an imaginary sponging of his small person. But it was cold work, and Madame Nestor seeing him begin to shiver grew really uneasy, and again tried to get him into his flannels.
"No, no," said Roger, in his turn—he had left off crying now—even the cold wasn't so bad as Gladdie calling him a dirty boy. Besides who could tell whether, somehow or other, Miss Susan might not come to hear of it? Gladys might write her a letter. "No, no," repeated Roger valorously, "we must be washed first."
"You too," said Madame Nestor in despair; "ah, what children!" But her good-humour did not desert her. Vaguely understanding what they meant—for recollections began to come back to her mind of what Léonie's mother used to tell her of the manners and customs of her nurseries—she got up, and smiling still, though with some reproach, at her queer little guests, she drew a blanket from the bed and wrapped it round them, and then opening the door she called downstairs to the little servant to bring a basin and towel and hot water. But the little servant did not understand, so after all the poor old lady had to trot downstairs again herself.
"My old legs will have exercise enough," she said to herself, "if the Papa does not come soon. However!"
"I'm sure she's angry," whispered Roger to Gladys inside the blanket, "we needn't have a bath every day, Gladdie."
"Hush," said Gladys sternly. "I'm not going to let you learn to be a dirty boy. If we can't have a bath we may at least be washed."