"Yes, yes, quite sure. The Abbé Loisel said so when he came this morning. I heard him say to grand-mamma, 'The wolves begin to tear each other. It is a just retribution.' And then he said, 'Hébert, who edits that disgrace to the civilised world, the Père Duchesne, is in prison.' Oh, Aline, would n't it have been fun if he had been sent here?"
Aline's hand went to her heart.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" she said quickly.
Marguerite made round baby eyes of wonder.
"You are frightened of him," she cried. "He must have done, or said, something very bad to make you look like that. If you would tell me what it was, I should not have to go on worrying you about him, but as it is, I shall have to make you simply hate me. I know I shall," she concluded mournfully.
"Oh, child, child, you don't understand," cried Mlle de Rochambeau, feeling suddenly that her two years of greater age were twenty of bitter experience. Her eyes filled as she bent her burning face over the embroidery, whilst two large tears fell from them and lay on the petals of her golden flower like points of glittering dew.
Marguerite coloured, and looked first down at the floor and then up at her friend's flushed face.
"Oh, Aline!" she breathed, "was it really that? Oh, the wretch! And when you wouldn't look at him he revenged himself? Ouf, it makes me creep. No wonder you feel badly about it. The villain!" she stamped a childish foot, and knotted her thread again.
"Oh dear, it will have to be cut," she declared, "and what grandmamma will say, the saints alone know."
Aline took the work out of the too vehement hands, and spent five minutes in bringing order out of a sad confusion. "Now it is better," she said, handing it back again; "you are too impatient, little one."