to do, so we went to the ashes to make dirt pies; but Babet would go so
close that she burnt her petticoat, and threw about all our ashes, and
plagued us, and we whipped her. But all would not do, she would not be
quiet; so to get out of her reach, we climbed up by this chair on the
table to the top of the press, and there we were well enough for a little
while, till somehow we began to quarrel about the old scissors, and we
struggled hard for them till I got this cut."

Here he unwound the handkerchief, and for the first time showed the
wound, which he had never mentioned before.

"Then," continued he, "when I got the cut, I shoved Victoire, and she
pushed at me again, and I was keeping her off, and her foot slipped, and
down she fell, and caught by the press-door, and pulled it and me after
her, and that's all I know."

"It is well that you were not both killed," said Madame de Fleury. "Are
you often left locked up in this manner by yourselves, and without
anything to do?"

"Yes, always, when mamma is abroad, except sometimes we are let out upon
the stairs or in the street; but mamma says we get into mischief there."

This dialogue was interrupted by the return of the mother. She came
upstairs slowly, much fatigued, and with a heavy bundle under her arm.

"How now! Maurice, how comes my door open? What's all this?" cried she,
in an angry voice; but seeing a lady sitting upon her child's bed, she
stopped short in great astonishment. Madame de Fleury related what had
happened, and averted her anger from Maurice by gently expostulating upon