“It wasn’t you who cried when you fell, was it?”
“No, mamma.”
“Who was it then?”
“I don’t know, mamma.”
“Is your nurse in the garden?”
“I don’t know.”
“But no; it wasn’t the nurse who cried out in that way.”
Her eyes were still searching; she looked in every direction, and I dared not stir; I was afraid to move a leaf; but in a moment she said:
“Let us go in, Henriette.”
“I’d rather stay in the garden.”