monsieur,
with a smile. "What is it this time?"

The smile was so encouraging that Joyce's determination not to tell
melted away, and she began a laughable account of the afternoon's
adventure. At first both the old people looked shocked. Monsieur
shrugged his shoulders and pulled his gray beard thoughtfully. Madame
threw up her hands at the end of each sentence like horrified little
exclamation points. But when Joyce had told the entire story neither of
them had a word of blame, because their sympathies were so thoroughly
aroused for Jules.

"I shall ask Monsieur Ciseaux to allow the child to visit here
sometimes," said madame, her kind old heart full of pity for the
motherless little fellow; "and I shall also explain that it was only
your desire to save Jules from ill treatment that caused you to do such
an unusual thing. Otherwise he might think you too bold and too--well,
peculiar, to be a fit playmate for his little nephew."

"Oh, was it really so improper and horrid of me, madame?" asked Joyce,
anxiously.

Madame hesitated. "The circumstances were some excuse," she finally
admitted. "But I certainly should not want a little daughter of mine to
be out after dark by herself on such a wild errand. In this country a
little girl would not think it possible to do such a thing."

Joyce's face was very sober as she arose to leave the room. "I do wish
that I could be proper like little French girls," she said, with
a sigh.

Madame drew her towards her, kissing her on both cheeks. It was such an
unusual thing for madame to do that Joyce could scarcely help showing
some surprise. Feeling that the caress was an assurance that she was not
in disgrace, as she had feared, she ran up-stairs, so light-hearted that
she sang on the way.

As the door closed behind her, monsieur reached for his pipe, saying, as
he did so, "She has a heart of gold, the little mademoiselle."

"Yes," assented madame; "but she is a strange little body, so untamed
and original. I am glad that her cousin returns soon, for the
responsibility is too great for my old shoulders. One never knows what
she will do next."

Perhaps it was for this reason that madame took Joyce with her when she
went to Tours next day. She felt safer when the child was in her sight.

"It is so much nicer going around with you than Marie," said Joyce,
giving madame an affectionate little pat, as they stood before the
entrance of a great square building, awaiting admission