w and then.

Madame wore velvet dinner-gowns, it is true, and her house was elegant
in its fine old furnishings bought generations ago; but only her
dressmaker and herself knew how many times those gowns had been ripped
and cleaned and remodelled. It was only constant housewifely skill that
kept the antique furniture repaired and the ancient brocade hangings
from falling into holes. None but a French woman, trained in petty
economies, could have guessed how little money and how much thought was
spent in keeping her table up to its high standard of excellence.

Now as she looked and estimated, counting the fingers of one hand with
the thumb of the other, a wish stirred in her kind old heart that she
need not take the child's money; but new cushions must be bought, and
she must be just to herself before she could be generous to others. So
she went on with her estimating and counting, and then called Gabriel to
consult with him.

"Much of the same hair can be used again," she said, finally, "and the
cushions were partly worn, so that it would not be right for you to have
to bear the whole expense of new ones. I shall keep sixteen,--no, I
shall keep only fifteen francs of your money, mademoiselle. I am sorry
to take any of it, since you have been so frank with me; but you must
see that it would not be justice for me to have to suffer in
consequence of your fault. In France, children do nothing without the
permission of their elders, and it would be well for you to adopt the
same rule, my dear mademoiselle."

Here she dropped two francs and two sous into Joyce's hand. It was more
than she had dared to hope for. Now there would be at least a little
picture-book apiece for the children at home.

This time Joyce saw the grin on the satyr's face when they passed the
fountain. She was smiling herself when they entered the house, where
monsieur was waiting to escort them politely in to dinner.

CHAPTER VI.

JOYCE PLAYS GHOST.

Monsieur Ciseaux was coming home to live. Gabriel brought the news when
he came back from market. He had met Henri on the road and heard it from
him. Monsieur was coming home. That was all they knew; as to the day or
the hour, no one could guess. That was the way with monsieur, Henri
said. He was so peculiar one never knew what to expect.

Although the work of opening the great house was begun immediately, and
a thorough cleaning was in progress from garret to cellar, Brossard did
not believe