surgeon.

"Oh yes, very soon, I dare say," said the little girl. "To-morrow,
perhaps; for now that it is tied up it does not hurt me to signify--and
after all, I do believe, Maurice, it was not you threw me down."

As she spoke, she held up her face to kiss her brother.--"That is right,"
said Madame de Fleury; "there is a good sister."

The little girl put out her lips, offering a second kiss, but the boy
turned hastily away to rub the tears from his eyes with the back of his
hand.

"I am not cross now: am I, Maurice?"

"No, Victoire; I was cross myself when I said _that_."

As Victoire was going to speak again, the surgeon imposed silence,
observing that she must be put to bed, and should be kept quiet. Madame
de Fleury laid her upon the bed, as soon as Maurice had cleared it of the
things with which it was covered; and as they were spreading the ragged
blanket over the little girl, she whispered a request to Madame de Fleury
that she would "stay till her mamma came home, to beg Maurice off from
being whipped, if mamma should be angry."

Touched by this instance of goodness, and compassionating the desolate
condition of these children, Madame de Fleury complied with Victoire's
request; resolving to remonstrate with their mother for leaving them
locked up in this manner. They did not know to what part of the town
their mother was gone; they could tell only "that she was to go to a
great many different places to carry back work, and to bring home more,
and that she expected to be in by five." It was now half after four.

Whilst Madame de Fleury waited, she asked the boy to give her a full
account of the manner in which the accident had happened.

"Why, ma'am," said Maurice, twisting and untwisting a ragged handkerchief
as he spoke, "the first beginning of all the mischief was, we had nothing
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