turn the key. His mortifying permission to his wife to absent
herself arose from pure love of teasing, but the next moment he
added, still holding his hand on the key--'As to telling what my
father reads, that would be treason. How shouldst thou know what
it is?'

'Does thou think every one is an infant but thyself?'

'But who told thee that to talk of my father's books would get him
into trouble?' continued the boy, as they still stood together on
the high heavy wooden chair.

She tossed her pretty head, and pretended to pout.

'Was it Diane? I will know. Didst thou tell Diane?'

Instead of answering, now that his attention to the key was
relaxed, Eustacie made a sudden dart, like a little wild cat, at
the back of the chair and at the key. They chair over-balanced;
Beranger caught at the front drawer of the cabinet, which, unlocked
by Eustacie, came out in his hand, and chair, children, drawer, and
curiosities all went rolling over together on the floor with a
hubbub that brought all the household together, exclaiming and
scolding. Madame de Ribaumont's displeasure at the rifling of her
hoards knew no bounds; Eustacie, by way of defence, shrieked 'like
twenty demons;' Beranger, too honourable to accuse her, underwent
the same tempest; and at last both were soundly rapped over the
knuckles with the long handle of Madame's fan, and consigned to two
separate closets, to be dealt with on the return of M. le Baron,
while Madame returned to her embroidery, lamenting the absence of