that monsieur could scarcely follow her meaning. Then, having relieved
her mind, and fearing that maybe she had been rude in speaking so
forcibly to such an old gentleman, she very humbly begged his pardon.
Before he could recover from her rapid change in manner and her torrent
of words, she reached out her hand, saying, in the meekest of little
voices, "And will you please give me back those things, monsieur? The
sheet is Madame Gréville's, and I've got to stuff that hair back in the
mattress to-night."

Monsieur gave them to her, still too astonished for words. He had never
before heard any child speak in such a way. This one seemed more like a
wild, uncanny little sprite than like any of the little girls he had
known heretofore. Before he could recover from his bewilderment, Joyce
had gone. "Good night, monsieur," she called, as the gate clanged
behind her.



CHAPTER VII.

OLD "NUMBER THIRTY-ONE."

No sooner had the gate closed upon the subdued little ghost, shorn now
of its terrors, than the old man strode forward to the place where
Brossard crouched in the straw, still crossing himself. This sudden
appearance of his master at such a time only added to Brossard's fright.
As for Jules, his knees shook until he could scarcely stand.

Henri, his curiosity lending him courage, cautiously opened the kitchen
door to peer out again. Emboldened by the silence, he flung the door