Comtois let Louise pass him; she stepped forward, trembling and afraid to raise her eyes; but she soon felt reassured when young Ernestine exclaimed:
“Oh! how pretty she is! I like her very much!—Come, mademoiselle; don’t be afraid of me; I am not a bit terrible, am I, Comtois? I am not stern, like mamma! But, for all that, mamma’s very kind, and papa too.—What is your name?”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen, mademoiselle.”
“Seventeen! Why, how tall you are! and so strong! I am fifteen—I am rather small for fifteen, am I not?”
Louise could not help smiling; and as she looked at her who was to be her mistress, she felt a thrill of joy at the aspect of that dainty creature, so like a child, whose sparkling blue eyes were fixed on hers with a kindly expression that instantly dissipated the terror that she had felt on entering.
“Am I not very small for fifteen?” repeated Ernestine, after Louise had looked at her.
“You still have plenty of time to grow, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, yes! that is my only consolation. Have you been in service in Paris before?”