spoilt me. I remember one day while I was swinging he called out
as he passed: "Come and kiss me, little Queen." Contrary to my
usual custom, I would not stir, and answered pertly: "You must
come for it, Papa." He refused quite rightly, and went away. Marie
was there and scolded me, saying: "How naughty to answer Papa like
that!" Her reproof took effect; I got off the swing at once, and
the whole house resounded with my cries. I hurried upstairs, not
waiting this time to call Mamma at each step; my one thought was
to find Papa and make my peace with him. I need not tell you that
this was soon done.

I could not bear to think I had grieved my beloved parents, and I
acknowledged my faults instantly, as this little anecdote, related
by my Mother, will show: "One morning before going downstairs I
wanted to kiss Thérèse; she seemed to be fast asleep, and I did
not like to wake her, but Marie said: 'Mamma, I am sure she is
only pretending.' So I bent down to kiss her forehead, and
immediately she hid herself under the clothes, saying in the tone
of a spoilt child: 'I don't want anyone to look at me.' I was not
pleased with her, and told her so. A minute or two afterwards I
heard her crying, and was surprised to see her by my side. She had
got out of her cot by herself, and had come downstairs with bare
feet, stumbling over her long nightdress. Her little face was wet
with tears: 'Mamma,' she said, throwing herself on my knee, 'I am
sorry for being naughty--forgive me!' Pardon was quickly granted;
I took the little angel in my arms and pressed her to my heart,
smothering her with kisses."

I remember also my great affection for my eldest sister Marie, who
had just left school. Without seeming to do so, I took in all that