"Come to me, Marion."
Marion started as though she meant to spring forward; but she checked herself and crossed the room slowly with hesitating steps. My mother kissed her on both cheeks just as she had kissed the others. I realized that she was performing what she considered a duty, and that she too greatly disapproved of my poor friend.
Gabrielle held up her arms in horror.
"Do not dare to come to work to-morrow!" she cried aloud; "for you will never work for us again. I discharge you; do you understand?"
She understood but too well. It was as though she had just heard her death-sentence. There was no house but ours where she could find work as a seamstress, and to discharge her was like condemning her to starvation.
My mother's voice was heard again, low, but full of gentle firmness.
"To-morrow Marion's work will be taken to her at her own house."
"I will not be the one to take it," cried Aunt Gabrielle, whose words produced a murmur of approbation.
"Then I will take it myself," said my mother, "if I can find no one to obey me."
Marion had disappeared.