I was habitually truthful with Paragot, because he never gave me cause to lie.
"I can't, Master," said I, thinking of my dreams of Joanna.
The seriousness of my tone amused him.
"What has made such an indelible impression on your mind?"
"I can't forget——" I blurted out, moved both by reluctance to yield over my dreams of Joanna and by a desire to show off my familiarity with French, "I can't forget about ces petits pieds si adorés."
The smile died from his face, which assumed a queer, scared expression. He went to the window and stood there so long, that I, in my turn grew scared. I realised dimly what I had done, and I could have bitten my tongue out. I drew near him.
"Master," said I timidly.
He did not seem to hear; presently he picked up his hat from the bed and walked out without taking any notice of me.
We did not refer to the papers again until long afterwards, and though they lay unguarded as before in the old stocking, never till this present day have I set my eyes on them.