The big girl with the equine head listened with an air of respectful
obedience, while her faint smile expressed the cunning of a Norman
peasant who had been five years in Paris already and was hardened to
service, and well knew what was done with children when the master and
mistress were absent.

"Madame," she said in a simple way, "Mademoiselle Lucie is poorly. She
has been sick again."

"What? sick again!" cried the father in a fury. "I am always hearing of
that! They are always being sick! And it always happens when we are going
out! It is very disagreeable, my dear; you might see to it; you ought not
to let our children have papier-mache stomachs!"

The mother made an angry gesture, as if to say that she could not help
it. As a matter of fact, the children were often poorly. They had
experienced every childish ailment, they were always catching cold or
getting feverish. And they preserved the mute, moody, and somewhat
anxious demeanor of children who are abandoned to the care of servants.

"Is it true you were poorly, my little Lucie?" asked Valentine, stooping
down to the child. "You aren't poorly now, are you? No, no, it's nothing,
nothing at all. Kiss me, my pet; bid papa good night very prettily, so
that he may not feel worried in leaving you."

She rose up, already tranquillized and gay again; and, noticing that
Mathieu was looking at her, she exclaimed:

"Ah! these little folks give one a deal of worry. But one loves them
dearly all the same, though, so far as there is happiness in life, it