THE BLOODY TREETHE BLOODY TREE
Fighting and scenes of horror had taken place on that peaceful farm. Ithad been occupied by the Germans. Later a terrible battle, one of the famous battles of the Argonne, had been fought there.
In the Major's garden stands the "Bloody Tree." The name is enough to tell what happened beneath its tall branches. A pole with wires still stands outside the Major's house. It is a telegraph pole raised by the Americansoldiers during the war. When the war was over, people came to see the Major's farm. People were curious, interested. There was the cellar where some poor souls had lived for weeks, listening to the booming of the battles in the woods near-by.
There were the German helmets captured during that last battle. There were many, many reasons why travelers were drawn to Major d'Artrot's farm. So Major d'Artrot turned his house into a hotel. One of his dearest friends was Madame Villard. She had helped make life easier for the Major and for his little brood.
During the long years following the death of her son, the Major had triedto help the stricken mother in her search for her lost granddaughter.
AMERICAN TELEGRAPH WIRES IN THE MAJOR'S GARDENAMERICAN TELEGRAPH WIRES IN THE MAJOR'S GARDEN
He had at last gathered for her the information that on that famous march an old peasant had been seen with a baby. Some one had seen him. But he had fallen on the weary march. They knew that.
But they did not know about the baby. Nobody could tell Madame Villard what had happened to the baby.
To-day the Major received Madame Villard's letter.
"Poor Madame!" he sighed, as he finished reading. "She does not give up hope, even through all these years."
And he thought of the little black figure which soon would step from the big, glossy car. She would take what comfort this poor family could provide. She would make happy the Major's children with gifts and toys. Her simple room would be generously paid for.
Then Madame would leave them, and to the near-by cemetery she would go. She would visit it, before starting the journey homeward to Paris and to her little Margot. Usually these visits of Madame Villard occurred after a tour of the country. Those tours took herinto very many villages of France, and always for the same purpose—always for a possible sign, a tiny clue of her lost grandchild.
"Madame is here," called the Major's youngest. "The big bright car is outside. See! Madame is coming in."
A flock of eager youngsters gathered about the little lady. She kissed them all and then sat down in the coolness of the Major's hallway.
"I have traveled far," she told the Major, after they were settled comfortably. The Major's children were outside in their arbor opening wonderful packages.
The Major's children were not starved for play. True, Madame Villardwas the only one who gave them shop toys. But their playthings were the brooks of the forest, the little farm animals, and sticks and stones.
MAJOR d'ARTROT AND HIS FAMILYMAJOR d'ARTROT AND HIS FAMILY
Happy little d'Artrots! The Major did not worry because they were sopoor. They had plenty of time for play.
"Through Verdun (vĕr-dŭn´) and Reims (rēmz) and the valley of the Meuse (mūz) I have traveled, dear Major d'Artrot," said Madame Villard. "My travels have now become a habit. There is surely no more hope. But on and on I go."
REIMS CATHEDRALREIMS CATHEDRAL
Major d'Artrot took her hand. "You must not say that, dear Madame," he answered. "There is always hope. And remember what joy you bring with your visits to us. We are always so glad to see you."
Madame thanked the Major and smiled.
"You are kind," she said. "I am always happy here with you and withyour little dear ones. But this time my visit is to be short. I must leave for Paris to-morrow."
"So soon? That is a pity," the Major said.
"No," smiled Madame Villard. "My little Margot's birthday is coming soon. I have promised to return and see to a very important part of her celebration."
Madame Villard's eyes were now twinkling. "Can you guess what that very important part might be for a young miss and her birthday?"
"No, I am afraid I do not know," the Major said.
"Well, dear Major, the young miss is to have a party frock which Grandmotherwill give her. Now do you admit that is a most important part of any young lady's birthday celebration?"
"Yes," laughed Major d'Artrot, "very important and serious!"
Then Major d'Artrot pulled a little card out of his pocket and showed it to Madame.
"And since Mademoiselle (mȧd-mwȧ-zĕl´) Margot is to have a beautiful frock," he said, "why do you not take her to this old friend of mine who makes some of the loveliest frocks in Paris?"
Madame Villard read the card and then looked up at the Major questioningly.
VERDUNVERDUN
He continued, "Suzanne Moreau lived in the village adjoining my farm before that village was destroyed by the enemy. She was a demure little dressmaker, and we knew her, my wife and I, as a kindly and lonely soul. Nowas you see by this card, she has established a fashionable children's shop in your Paris. She is still a kindly, modest little woman. Her whole life is centered in that small niece of hers, Jeanne, who is called the 'Little Model.' Have you, perhaps, heard of her?"
THE MEUSETHE MEUSE
Madame Villard nodded and looked again at the card.
"Auntie Sue's Shop," she read.
"Yes, indeed," she answered, "I have heard. But Margot and I have never been to the shop. Now since I know that they are friends of yours, we will surely go."
"Ah, you are kind," said the Major. "Auntie Sue deserves what little one can do to help. She is struggling alone and works very hard. I assure you, dear Madame Villard, that she is a most deserving and honest person."
"I believe that," smiled Madame, patting the Major's hand. "For to be a friend of yours, one is obliged to be deserving, honest, and kind."
Auntie Sue watched Jeanne as she skipped along to school. There could not possibly have been a happier skip. There could not possibly have been a happier little face than the one Auntie Sue had just kissed.
But yet as Jeanne turned the corner, Auntie Sue felt something sad inside of her.
Something said to her, "She is not really happy. Other children are happy, but Jeanne is not a child. She is a puppet—a puppet."
Suzanne rushed into the shop andtried to shut out those thoughts. And Jeanne skipped along to school.
Strange to say, Jeanne was thinking of puppets, too. But she was not thinking of them in the same way as was Auntie Sue.
She was thinking of the puppet show in the park. This puppet show is called a Guignol (gēn´-yōl) in France and the park where it is played is the Champs Elysées.
On nearly every corner of this beautiful park is a Guignol. Where there is no Guignol, there is a swing, or there are donkeys to ride or goat carts. Children are amused in Paris.
THE GUIGNOLTHE GUIGNOL
Jeanne often passed the park, but the amusements there were not for her.Jeanne had no time for Guignols and donkeys and goat carts. Jeanne had to go to school and from school to help Auntie in the shop.
The donkeys and swings and other amusements did not attract Jeanne so much. But oh, how she loved the Guignol! Very often she would stop outside the tall gates and watch for ever so short a time.
And when the children cried out, "There he is! There he is!" as they do when the wicked policeman pops up his puppet head, Jeanne would shout with them.
She loved those silly little puppets. She knew them all just by passing them each day.
There was Guignol, the bad boy. He was the one all the children loved. There was the policeman; and how they hated him! There was a funny lady with a wobbly hat, which was always knocked off; and her hair would all fall down.
There were others. There was a pale, very pale boy they called Pierrot (pyĕ-rō´) which, in French, means "clown."
Jeanne felt sorry for him because he was very old and paintless and torn. They never gave him a fresh coat of paint nor mended his suit. Poor Pierrot!
Jeanne knew those stories by heart, too. There was the story of the milkman.The bad boy drinks all the milkman's milk, while sending him on useless errands.
There was "The Mattress," the story in which Guignol has a dream right up on the tiny stage. Guignol, by the way, is just like our American Punch, a puppet of the Punch and Judy show.
There were a few other stories, but they were always the same. Jeanne thought of many new stories. She wondered why the children didn't grow tired of having the same stories all the time. Jeanne could make up others—and she did—while she skipped to school. She made them up while she walked about the shop showing Auntie's little models.
To-day was a very fine day. When school was over, Jeanne found a group of children in bright-colored clothes, watching the Guignol. How sweet and pretty they looked sitting under the trees in their dainty clothes!
Jeanne leaned against a tree. It was early yet. She might watch one Guignol play.
JEANNE LEANED AGAINST A TREEJEANNE LEANED AGAINST A TREE
The play was "The Thief." Guignol gives a lady a rose. She puts it in her hair under the large, floppy hat.
Then Guignol dances for her. It is a clumsy dance, and he trips. The children laugh. He gallops clumsily off the stage. Pierrot tiptoes in from the other side.
Jeanne leans forward eagerly. HasPierrot a new suit, new paint? No, he is shabby and pale. Ah, poor Pierrot! But he dances on tiptoes, so light is he.
His dance is elfin and gay. The lady watches. She is enchanted. Pierrot flits about the stage. Then, when his dance is at an end, he snatches the rose from the lady's hair. The lady's wobbly hat falls off. The lady's wobbly hair falls down. She is a sorry sight.
But who is that entering on the side? It is Guignol! He marches up to Pierrot, and there is a fight. The children scream. The children cry out. Pierrot is losing.
"Ah, Guignol! Guignol!" the children cry.
Their hero is winning.
Pierrot is thrown, and he lands far away from the stage. He lands on the ground, but the children do not mind.
They are all absorbed in Guignol—their Guignol. He is kissing the lady now.
But not for long are they happy. The alligator comes gliding upon the stage. There is another battle, and Guignol vanquishes the alligator.
Then indeed is Guignol a hero. The curtain falls to the pleased applause of the young audience.
Only Jeanne has noticed Pierrot. He lies in a heap on the ground. Nobody has come to fetch him.
Time goes on, and as the sun sinks lower, more and more children leavethe park. The Guignol plays are over for the day. The men who make them are packing to go.
Now everyone is gone but Jeanne. Jeanne and the Pierrot are alone. The little girl goes up to the puppet.
"They have forgotten you, Pierrot," she says softly, "but maybe they do not care."
Then Jeanne sits down on a bench with Pierrot in her arms.
"But come, come. You must not mind, Pierrot, if they do not love you. You must not mind if they throw you aside and clap for Guignol. See! I love you very much. And even if you do wear shabby clothes and your paint is dull, that does not matter."
Jeanne rocks the Pierrot. It grows dark in the Champs Elysées.
"You must not mind. See, Pierrot!" she says. "See my dress and coat and cap? They are as shabby as yours. But I do not mind. You see, we are both the same. But I feel sorry because you do not dance more and because you are never the hero of the plays. Guignol is an awkward, clumsy fellow. It is you who are my hero, Pierrot."
As she talks, Jeanne's voice grows soft and drowsy. Jeanne's head nods, and her eyes close. A soft breeze begins to stir in the trees. Jeanne is asleep.
Jeanne and Pierrot were walking through the Bois de Boulogne (bwä´ dẽ bo͞o´-lōn´). That is a beautiful wood in Paris where children and grown people play and walk and go boating on silvery lakes.
THE BOIS DE BOULOGNETHE BOIS DE BOULOGNE
Jeanne and Pierrot walked in the Bois (bwä), hand in hand. Pierrot was not crying any more, though it had taken Jeanne a long time to soothe him. She told him of the many stories she would make up. She told him of the many fine adventures he would have as the hero of these stories.
Jeanne now had a story in her mind. And she was taking Pierrot to a quiet spot where she could tell him about it.
"Sit here beside me, Pierrot," she said at last.
They had found a sylvan dell that might have been in the heart of fairy-land, instead of in the heart of a big city like Paris.
"Now, listen, Pierrot," said Jeanne. "I am going to tell you a very fine story. You and I shall be the actors in it. I shall be Joan of Arc and you shall be my knight.
"You know that Joan of Arc was only a little girl when she heard the call to save her country. She rode a big horse at the head of an army.
"She marched against the enemy with a sword in her hand. But my story says that without her brave knight she could not have won the battle."
Pierrot's shirt puffed out. His little clown cap went up in the air—puff!—and came down again on his head. He was very proud indeed. Jeanne was pleased because she had made him happy.
"Now see! We shall begin our story and I am hearing the call."
Jeanne stood; but first she picked up a long stick from the ground. The stick turned into a sword—a glittering sword.
Jeanne was dressed in shining steel armor. Pierrot's tiny clown suitchanged to a coat of mail. They were ready for the battle.
"Forward, my brave men of France," called Joan of Arc. And the little puppet saluted Jeanne. But Jeanne cried, "My horse! Where is my horse?"
A large statue appeared before them. It was the iron statue of a horse. It was twice the size of a real horse.
Jeanne tried to mount. She could not. She was too small. The horse was too high. But Pierrot mounted. With a graceful leap, he was upon the charger's back. Then down he flew and offered Jeanne his hand. Up flew the puppet, and Jeanne flew with him.
They sat upon the iron charger. Slowly he moved his joints, and thenoff, off he galloped with the little girl and the puppet.
All the time Jeanne was brandishing her sword. She was Joan of Arc and she was riding at the head of her army of France as Joan of Arc had done long, long ago.
"Wait, wait!" called a voice. A policeman was running after them through the Bois. "Stop! You have stolen a statue from the park. Bring back the iron horse!"
He was so little—that policeman—and the horse was so big that they did not mind him.
"He is only a policeman," said Jeanne to Pierrot. "He is always clubbed and kicked in the Guignol plays."
Pierrot laughed, and pop!—part of his armor burst!
"Oh, he is a wicked, wicked policeman," said Jeanne. "The children always hate him in the Guignol plays."
So away from the policeman they galloped.
But wait! Look! The policeman has grown, and he is now as tall as the horse! The club he carries has grown, too, and he clubs the iron horse. It makes a terrible noise, and the horse stops.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Wake up, little one!" says a gruff voice.
Jeanne opens her eyes and looks into the face of a policeman standing overher in the park. She has been asleep on the bench, with the little puppet Pierrot in her arms.
It is very dark in the park. It is night.
"Come," says the policeman. "Tell me where you live, little one."
Oh, the terrible policeman of the Guignol plays! Jeanne remembers how the children hate him, and she tries to run away.
But the policeman catches hold of her arm. It seems to Jeanne that his face is kind.
"Come, little one! Do not be afraid of me. I am the friend of the children. Tell me where you live and let me take you home," he says.
It was very dark in the park, but asthey walked through the city streets, the lights made everything as bright as day.
Jeanne and the policeman and Pierrot came to the door of Auntie Sue's Shop. When the policeman handed Jeanne to Auntie Sue, the little girl could not help wondering why the children hate the policeman in the Guignol plays.
"Oh, Jeanne, my little one, ma chérie! Where have you been?" cried Auntie Sue.
It was quite evident that poor Auntie Sue had been worried ill. She caught the little dreamer and the puppet into her arms. She hugged them so tightly that Jeanne thought they would bothbe crushed. Jeanne was more concerned about Pierrot than about herself, though, for he was so little and frail.
Then Auntie put Jeanne to bed with Pierrot beside her, his face peering out from the covers.
And when Auntie had left them alone, Jeanne whispered to her little puppet friend, "Pierrot, the policeman shall not be bad in our stories! He is good, you see. In our stories you shall be the hero. The policeman shall be a kind man who loves children. Guignol shall be the wicked one, and you shall kick and beat him."
Pierrot did not move. Jeanne was awake now, you see. And puppets donot move by themselves when children are awake.
But Jeanne thought she saw his eyes twinkle and his nose wriggle just the least bit, before she popped off to sleep.
After Auntie left Jeanne and the Pierrot asleep in bed that night, she went into her own room and sat down by her little table. She shaded her eyes with her hands and thought very hard.
Poor Auntie Sue was unhappy. There was a little voice inside of her that never would be still. This voice talked and talked and talked. No one could hear it but Auntie Sue. It was not a person, nor was it a fairy. Yet it was there, and it talked to Auntie Sue.
People call that voice Conscience. You see, many other people besideAuntie Sue have heard that voice. He is known to everyone who does wrong.
And Auntie Sue had done great wrong. Not knowing it, she had been doing a great wrong all these years she had kept Jeanne from her rightful home. And now that voice called Conscience was tormenting her.
To-night he was talking more loudly and more fiercely than he had ever talked before. As Auntie Sue sat before her little table, he did not leave her a moment's peace.
"You see what has happened," he said inside of Auntie Sue. "You see what you have done by keeping Jeanne from Madame Villard. She is starved for play.
JEANNE SHOWING A NEW FROCKJEANNE SHOWING A NEW FROCK
"You have made her a poor little girl who has to work. If she lived in the lovely apartment house with her grandmother, she could play and play and play."
Suzanne clapped her hands over her ears to stop the voice. But Conscience came from her heart and did not need her ears to hear him.
He went right on, "What would that soldier say? What would the old man say? What would the grandmother say? And Major d'Artrot?"
"Oh, Major d'Artrot, my good, my honest friend!" sobbed Suzanne.
She thought of her only friend in all the world. She would never dare to confess to him what she had done!
She opened her drawer and looked at the picture in the locket. She read again the name and address which had been pinned to the baby's skirt so many years ago: "Madame Villard. Avenue Champs Elysées."
SHE READ AGAIN THE NAME AND ADDRESSSHE READ AGAIN THE NAME AND ADDRESS
The face of Jeanne's father looked back at her. It seemed to her that his eyes were accusing her.
"You have kept her from her rightful home and from the pleasures of childhood," went on the voice. And the face in the locket seemed to agree with the voice.
"To-night the child stayed in the park with a puppet—the only play toy she has ever had. She fell asleep in front of the Guignol, where happy childrengo to clap and laugh. But you give Jeanne no time for play and laughter."
It was all true. But Suzanne knew that if Jeanne stopped showing the clothes she made, her audience would cease to be interested. If she did not draw her audience, she could not sell the clothes. And if she did not sell the clothes, she could not support Jeanne.
It was all quite terrible for Auntie Sue. And she dared not mention it to a soul. Nobody knew that Jeanne did not belong to her. Nobody knew Jeanne's story, not even the Major.
"Grandmother! Grandmother! Home again! How glad I am!"
Little Margot threw herself into Madame Villard's arms, and the old lady hugged her close.
"Yes, my little Margot. Grandmother comes back for one splendid occasion!"
"Ah, my birthday," smiled Margot.
And then Grandmother and Margot planned for that birthday. It was strange how Margot did not like so many things.
When Grandmother mentioned atheater party, the little girl shook her dark head.
"No, it is not what I like," she said.
Then Grandmother suggested a trip to the zoo with a party of girls and boys.
"No, I do not like the zoo!" Margot pouted.
"A Guignol party, chérie?" asked Grandmother.
"Ah, no! They are so stupid!" complained Margot.
And Grandmother smiled and shook her head.
"My Margot is a little bit spoiled, perhaps," she observed.
Margot was not a little bit, but a great big bit spoiled. Grandmotherand Mother had both spoiled her, from the day she was born.
Mother was nearly always with Father and Margot saw little of her. When they were together Mother would kiss and hug a great deal and sometimes she would cry. There were always gifts in Mother's room for Margot.
And when Mother brought her into Father's room, he, too, would pet and caress her and give her toys or candy. Poor, helpless Father! He loved to see his little girl. It made his dull eyes brighten when she came into the room.
He would say to Mother after Margot had left, "Has the sun gone under a cloud, Marie? It seems darker to me."
You see, he felt sunshine while his little daughter was there.
But the nurse would not allow frequent visits. Ah, Father might never be allowed to forget that bitter war!
So Grandmother played guardian to Margot. And a loving and indulgent guardian was she!
Margot could play from morning until night if she wanted to, except, of course, for school hours.
The nursery was filled with costly toys. They did not interest little Margot any more. There were so many of them.
In fact, little spoiled Margot was not interested in anything, because she had too much.
"Ah, well, chérie," said Grandmother, "you will think of something that Grandmother can do for your birthday. But to-morrow we shall go to buy the little party frock which I promised you."
Frocks were of no more interest to Margot than toys. She had too many of those, also. So she hardly listened to Grandmother's last remark.
"I am going to take you to a shop where a little girl shows clothes to the people who come to buy—a real little model. You might call her a live puppet. My chérie will enjoy that, will she not?" asked Grandmother eagerly, hoping to interest the child in a new pleasure.
Evidently the idea did bring with it something new and exciting to Margot.
For she turned and asked, "And does this little girl really walk about and pose, as people do on the stage?"
"Yes, chérie. So I hear," answered Madame Villard.
"A live puppet!"
Margot clapped her hands, and Grandmother was pleased to see her joy.
Then her face fell, she turned to Grandmother and said slowly, "Oh, what a lucky little girl she is!"
"The people are waiting! Hurry, Jeanne!" called Auntie to the little girl at the back of the screen.
Jeanne sat with Pierrot before her, and both were dressed in splendor. The little girl had on a new frock of Auntie Sue's.
Her dark hair made a charming frame for her little oval face under the yellow poke bonnet, of old-fashioned shape. She wore an old-fashioned dress. It was yellow, with hand-painted flowers and a velvet bow.
And Pierrot! Ah, Pierrot, too, wasfine in a new satin suit and cap, with bright red cheeks which Jeanne had painted. Many exciting adventures were happening there behind the screen to the little yellow-gowned girl and the clown in satin.
Jeanne was not thinking of this new frock of Auntie's which she wore, nor of the big Saturday audience out in the shop waiting for her to appear. She was thinking of her latest play for Pierrot. As Auntie called, Jeanne put the puppet down and, smoothing the dainty dress, she stepped out into the bright little shop room.
All about were seated ladies and children. The children were in smart attire, with interested and curious littlefaces that peered and stared at the live puppet as she walked about.
As Jeanne passed a little girl with hair and eyes as dark as her own and a wistful look, the gray-haired lady sitting beside the little girl stopped Jeanne.
"What a beautiful frock!" she said, and touched the hem of the garment gently.
"WHAT A BEAUTIFUL FROCK!" SHE SAID"WHAT A BEAUTIFUL FROCK!" SHE SAID
Jeanne and the little girl looked at each other.
Auntie Sue came over to them.
Madame Villard smiled at the dressmaker and asked, "Do you think that this style would become my little granddaughter?"
Suzanne looked quickly at Margot.Margot's big brown eyes were fastened eagerly upon the child whom she had called a lucky little girl.
"Yes, Madame," answered Auntie Sue. "With her brown eyes and slight figure, the little mademoiselle should wear the frock as well as Jeanne does."
Madame and Auntie Sue then talked for some time about the frock.
Jeanne went about the large audience, with Margot's wondering eyes following her every movement.
At last Jeanne finished showing all the garments. The young model disappeared behind the screen, and the audience began to leave.
Auntie Sue was showing a closet fullof clothes to Madame Villard whose many purchases made the pencil of Auntie Sue skip over the page and her heart skip with gladness.
This was, of course, dull for Margot, and Margot was not used to things being dull. She sat in the empty room, while Grandmother talked and looked at clothes and paid no attention to her.
The little girl began to walk about the shop. She peered at the floppy dolls on the tables and at the quaint hat stands and show-cases.
She came to the screen behind which Jeanne had disappeared. She longed to peep behind that screen. She edged up close and tried to look through the cracks to the back.
She heard a tiny sound. Then words: "Down with the Bastille (bȧs-tēl´)!"
Margot pressed her head against the screen to hear better. The screen began to topple. Over it went. There was a muffled sound, and Jeanne stood up and faced Margot.
Jeanne was now in her own simple clothes. She held the Pierrot puppet, who was, however, still grandly dressed.
She stared hard at Margot and then at the fallen screen. Margot stared, too. Then Margot managed to remember her manners.
"Excuse me," she said. "I did not mean to knock down the screen."
Jeanne smiled and picked up thescreen, while Margot helped her set it in place. When it again stood erect, Margot found herself outside and Jeanne inside. They were separated as before.
For a few moments there was silence from both sides of the screen. Then came a giggle from one side and a giggle from the other.
And then from the outside, "May I come back and see you?"
From the inside, "Yes, do come!"
Margot went behind the screen, and for the first time in her life she learned the magic of real play.
Jeanne had one plaything: a little forsaken puppet. But with love and tenderness she made him a hero.
Jeanne told Margot about Pierrot. She told that he was no longer the buffoon—the poor mistreated clown. He was now a hero.
He could play a knight or a king—Napoleon! She told Margot that Pierrot was Napoleon in one of her plays and that she was Joan of Arc.
Margot lived in another world for the space of an hour. Then the two little girls were called back suddenly by a voice from the room.
"Margot, Margot! Child! Where are you?"
Grandmother was looking for her.
Margot and Jeanne stepped out from behind the screen and found Grandmother preparing to leave. AuntieSue stood beside her with pencil and pad.
"Thank you, Madame," said Auntie Sue gratefully, "for your splendid order to-day. It was indeed kind of you to make so many purchases at my little shop."
Madame answered, "I am truly pleased with your charming wares, my dear Mademoiselle Moreau. Besides, you know, my dear friend Major d'Artrot is also a friend of yours."
"But Madame," said Auntie Sue, as the grandmother and her little Margot started out of the door, "I have not yet taken your name. I do not know—."
"Of course, of course," laughed Madame Villard. "How very forgetful ofme! Please write my name and address, so you will know where to send the little things."
Suzanne seated herself at a tiny desk and, with pencil poised, looked up at the sweet face above her.
Madame dictated: "Madame Paul Villard. Avenue Champs Elysées."
The pencil dropped from Auntie Sue's hand. Her head fell forward. Jeanne rushed over to the little desk and caught Auntie Sue as she was about to fall.
"Auntie, Auntie dear, what is the matter?" she cried.
Little Margot picked up the pencil while both children and Madame Villard hovered over the desk.
Suzanne rested her head on her hand and whispered, "It is all right. I am all right now. I was only a bit faint. Oh, I am so sorry, dear Madame."
"IT IS ALL RIGHT. I AM ALL RIGHT NOW—""IT IS ALL RIGHT. I AM ALL RIGHT NOW—"
Auntie Sue was soon up upon her sprightly little feet again. Smilingly she bowed Madame and her granddaughter out of the door. But when they had left the shop, Suzanne went to her room, and Jeanne did not see her again that day.
Margot took off the telephone receiver and asked for a number. It was early next morning, and the child was not yet dressed.
She was in kimono and slippers and had tiptoed into the living room.
"Hello," said a voice at the other end of the wire.
"Hello," said Margot. "I want to speak with Jeanne, if you please."
Margot had talked of nothing but Jeanne from the time she had left the shop. She had fallen asleep last night to the tune of Pierrot dreams, fierysteeds, and gallant armored knights.
Grandmother promised that she might ask Jeanne to play with her to-day. They would go for a long drive. They would go to the park and to the Guignol. There was nobody like Jeanne—nobody that Margot had ever met.
"Is this Jeanne?" asked Margot, as the little girl's voice came over the telephone.
"Yes."
"This is Margot. Can you go out with me to-day? I shall call for you at two."
It was a command, but little Margot was not aware of that. She did not mean it that way. She only meant to have what she wanted, as she usually did.
"But I must first ask Auntie," Jeanne replied.
"Oh, she will let you go," declared Margot. "You may tell her that we shall take care of you and bring you back safely."
Margot waited while Jeanne ran to Auntie's room. Jeanne had not seen Auntie since the afternoon before, when she had so mysteriously disappeared in her room after her fainting spell. Jeanne found Auntie a pale and worried Auntie this morning.
"Oh, Auntie dear," cried Jeanne, throwing her arms about Suzanne's neck, "you are not well."
Suzanne assured the child that she was quite well, and so she was. Theonly trouble was with the little man who is nothing but a voice and is called Conscience. He had been talking to her all night and keeping her awake.
When Jeanne told what Madame Villard's grandchild wanted, it seemed that Suzanne flinched at the name.
But she smiled and answered, "Yes, dear. Tell her you will go. It will be so nice for you. And to-day is Sunday. There is no work."
Jeanne was only a child, and she longed to go with her new little friend. She longed to ride in the big motor and to play. But she hesitated just for a minute.
"You are sure you will not need me, dear Auntie?" she asked.
"Run along and tell the little girl you are coming," laughed Auntie Sue.
When Jeanne closed the door behind her, Suzanne Moreau's smile faded. She held her throbbing head in her two hands.
How she longed to tell some one of her sufferings! If only she dared confide her story to the Major!
But she valued that honorable gentleman's friendship so much that she feared to lose it by admitting what she now felt to be her terrible crime. Conscience was making her think that—Conscience, together with the face in the locket!
And now Jeanne was going out with little Margot—her own cousin! Margotwould take her in a beautiful car. Margot would wear beautiful clothes. They would play with beautiful toys.
Ah, poor little Jeanne! It was hard for Suzanne, with these thoughts, to keep a smiling face until Jeanne had left with Margot.
Through Paris in a fine motor car! How often Jeanne had seen these same sights! But now how splendid it all seemed to the little girl, as she sat beside Margot, with Pierrot firmly clasped in her hand! For Pierrot had been invited, too. I doubt whether Margot would have welcomed Jeanne as heartily without Pierrot. Pierrot was half of the performance.
They rode through Paris. They passed the Place de la Concorde (pläs dĕ lä kôn-kôrd´), that most beautiful of city squares, where a sight not sobeautiful once stood. It was here that the guillotine had stood. It is the terrible instrument which beheaded so many people in those frightful, stormy days of old.