nching him with hot tongs, and another
being stoned, and another being boiled in oil. They were so brave that
they never screeched out, but only sang hymns, and prayed beautiful
prayers. I used to long to be a martyr too, but I don't any more now,
for I know I couldn't bear it, but it cheers me up to think about them.
Bridgie says there's nothing so bad but it might be worse, and I was
thinking that they were worse off than me. I'd rather even that the
girls wouldn't speak to me than boiling oil--wouldn't you,
Mademoiselle?"

"I would indeed!" replied Mademoiselle fervently. "But what a subject
to think about on a dull grey day! No wonder you look miserable! You
need not think about boiling oil just now at all events, for I have to
stay in too, and I have come to sit here and talk to you. Will that
make you feel a little bit less miserable?"

"Now that depends upon what ye talk about, Mademoiselle," said Pixie,
with that air of quaint candour which her companions had been wont to
find so amusing; and Mademoiselle first smiled, and then looked grave
enough.

"I am not going to question you about your trouble, if you mean that,
Pixie. It is Miss Phipps's affair now, not mine. I wish you had been
more outspoken, but I am not going to scold you again. You are being
punished already, and I feel sorry to see you so grave and to hear no
more laughs and jokes. Shall we 'ave what they call an armistice, and
talk together as we used to do when we were very good friends?"

She held out her hand as she spoke, and Pixie's thin fingers grasped
hers with a force that was almost painful. She looked overcome with
gratitude, nevertheless, now that it had been agreed to talk, both felt
a decided difficulty in deciding what to talk about, for even a
temporary coldness between friends heaps up many barriers, and in this
particular case it was difficult to feel once more at ease and
unconstrained. It was Pixie who spoke first, and her voice was full of
shy eagerness.

"How's your father, Mademoiselle? Is he having his health any better
than it was?"

"A little--yes, a little better. He is in the South with my brother
until the cold winds are over in Paris. He is like me--he hates to be
cold, so he is very happy down there in the sunshine. I told you about
him then, did I? I had forgotten that."

"Yes, you told me that day when I--when I lassoed you on the stairs, and
I wrote the verb not to be rude to you any more.