“You’ve come home, Margot?”
“Yes, but I’m going away again.”
“Don’t go, Margot. Don’t leave me. I’m afraid of Mother. Stay with me. Stay with your little Cécile.”
“No, I can’t. Kiss me, dear.”
The child held her so tightly it was difficult to free herself. Then the mother turned. She shrieked in sudden fury, and the girl in her terror made a leap for the door. But the latch jammed; and, the while she was fumbling with it, the woman made a rush for her.
The girl screamed with fright. The woman, in her haste, stumbled, caught herself, and with a foul oath snatched the knife from the table....
That was Margot’s last memory of her mother,—a harridan hurling curses at her and threatening her with a naked knife....
Sobbing with terror, she stumbled over the stone sill of the doorway and gained the sanctuary of the night.
2.
The night had on her robe of carnival, and her spangled skirts made glorious the sky. The girl halted by the wayside, where a line of clipped oaks blotted themselves against the stars. She did not cry, for she had lost the habit of tears, but drew long sobbing breaths.