“Tell me, papa, don’t you love my brother? You never kiss him, you never speak to him; but he is a nice little fellow. He loves you too, my brother does; so why don’t you take him in your arms?”
“My dear love, because we don’t treat a boy as we do a girl.”
“Ah! don’t people kiss little boys?”
“Very seldom.”
“But, papa, Monsieur Ernest kisses his little boy as often as he does his daughter.”
I did not know what to reply; children often embarrass us when we try to conceal things from them. Mademoiselle Henriette, seeing that I did not know what to say to her, exclaimed:
“Oh! if you didn’t love my brother, that would be very naughty!”
To avoid my daughter’s remarks and questions, I determined to kiss her less frequently during the day. However, as I desired to make up to myself for my abstinence, I always went into the children’s chamber when I rose. They were still asleep when I went in. Eugène’s cradle was by a window, and Henriette’s little bed at the other end of the room, surrounded by curtains, which I put aside with great care in order not to wake her. I never went to the cradle, but I left the room softly and noiselessly when I had kissed my daughter.
I had been doing this for several days. Henriette said no more to me about her brother, but glanced furtively at me with a mischievous expression; it seemed that schemes were already brewing in that little head.
One morning I went as usual to the children’s room; I drew the curtains partly aside and kissed my daughter, and I was about to steal away on tiptoe when I heard a burst of laughter behind me; I turned and saw Henriette in her nightgown, crouching behind a chair; she came from her hiding-place, and began to hop and dance about the room, saying: