“Ah!” shrieked Jaqueline, “so there is! I see it all now! It’s all along of that water I drank this morning. Get out of the way, do!” and, rushing past him, she ran off to the room of Madame Rigaud, whom she earnestly entreated to introduce her to the priest of the family without loss of time. “I shall place myself under his protection,” said she.
“The resolution does you great credit,” observed Madame Rigaud. “He will attend you here immediately, I am sure; for he is an excellent man, and always delighted to do good.”
About five minutes after, as Jaqueline was standing alone before a mirror, endeavouring vainly to discover what change in her appearance had caused such a marvellous change in the manners of the men toward her, the door slowly opened, and a venerable grey-haired ecclesiastic stood gazing upon her in respectful silence.
“Ah! Father Dunstan!” she exclaimed joyously, “is that you? Oh! I am so rejoiced to see you! Don’t you know me?”
“Really, Mademoiselle,” said the holy man, nervously, “there must be some mistake. If I had ever had the honour of being introduced to you, I am sure I could not have forgotten——”
“No, I can’t be mistaken,” observed Jaqueline, “only I’m grown a good deal since you left St Denis. Many a time you’ve dandled me on your knee; but I suppose I’m too heavy for that now; so come, sit down, and I’ll take a chair beside you, or perhaps I ought to go upon my knees, for it is a sort of confession that I’ve got to make, though really I didn’t think there could be any great harm in just drinking a little water. However, you’ll tell me what to do, I know; for you were always very kind and indulgent, though you used to thump me on the back, and laugh at me for romping, and say that I was too strong for a girl, and ought to have been a boy.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed the bewildered priest.
“Perfectly true, mon bon père,” said our heroine. “Look at me again. There, I am your old play-fellow, Jaqueline Triquet.”