"Ah, yes, yes," said Matilda. "You are noble, Comtesse. I love you, I could crawl at your feet."
"But I should not wish it," said Margot. "I hate people that crawl. I want you to become good, and perhaps, God knows, it may be the right thing to do. Stay where you are, Matilda, and I will go and speak to grand'mère."
She came back in a few minutes with a light dancing step.
"Grand'mère _est un ange_. She will settle with Madame Marcelle and I will choose you a chapeau for nothing at all. I know the kind that will suit you. I can dispose of you in a moment."
"But, but----" exclaimed Matilda. "Am I not to see you again, sweetest Margot?"
"You have got to go back to school this minute. The rain is over and grandpère's automobile is waiting for you. Madame la Comtesse has written to Madame la Princesse and you will not be scolded and you will send back my clothes after they are well washed and ironed. I cannot tell you anything about Ireland for a long day yet. Go now, Matilda, and don't grovel, I beg."
Matilda looked rather startled and slightly frightened.
"I have missed thee so, _ma petite_," he exclaimed.
"The girl would have died, grandpère, if I had not rescued her. A flash of lightning would have taken her up to heaven as Elijah was taken up."
"Ah, well, grandpère, thou art a little ignorant in some things, but never mind, I want to ask thee a question."
"Ask away, my cabbage, my fledgling," said the old man.
"There was a little girl and she did wrong," said Margot. "It's all suppose, don't forget that, grandpère."
"She did wrong, a deep, terrible wrong," continued Margot, "and there came to her a sorrow which was great, which was severe. Her conscience pricked her. For behold, understand, she was a Protestant and could not confide in one of thy Catholic Church. Then it occurred to her that she might make reparation for her wrong and do something that she most badly hated, and so set her pricked conscience at rest. Dost thou think, if she did that thing, that the great God would forgive her, grandpère?"
"I am certain of it, _ma petite_. I am as sure as that I am a very old man and that thou art my best _chérie_. But now, let's talk of something cheerful. What does it matter to thee, _petite_, how wrong others are if thou thyself art free?"
