and, creeping down
into a corner where she could scarcely be seen, she sat watching our two
pretty young ladies with all her eyes. No wonder, I thought; they were
very pretty young ladies, and it was nice to see them together, walking
up and down with arms intertwined, and talking eagerly, their talk
sometimes interrupted by merry bursts of soft girlish laughter. And all
the time the lonely little creature on the balcony sat and watched them
longingly, her little pale face pressed against the bars, her plain
black dress almost hiding her from notice.

"'How happy they look, those pretty young ladies,' the lonely little
girl said to herself. 'How happy I should be if I had a sister, for I
have no one to talk to, no one to kiss me and play with me and if ever I
say I am sad my aunt is angry. O mother! why did you go away and leave
me?'"

"Could you hear all that from up here on the roof?" said Jeanne. "Dear
me, Dudu, you must have good ears."

"Of course I have; I told you so, Mademoiselle," said Dudu drily. "I had
better ears than your great-grandmother and her sister, for they heard
nothing, not even when the poor little girl took courage to push her
face farther forward between the railings, and to say very softly and
timidly,

"'Mesdemoiselles, Mesdemoiselles, _might_ I come and walk with you? I am
so tired of being here all alone.'

"They did not hear her. They were talking too busily about the fete of
their mother, I think, which was to be in a few days, and of what they
were to prepare for her. And the poor little girl sat up there for more
than an hour watching them with longing eyes, but not daring to call out
more loudly. It made me quite melancholy to see her, and when at last
our young ladies went in, and she had to give up hopes of gaining their
attention, it made me more melancholy still, she looked so
disappointed, and her eyes were full of tears; and I felt quite upset
about her, and kept turning over in my head what I could do to make her
happier. I thought about it for some time, and at last I decided that
the first thing to do was to find out more about the little stranger and
the cause of her grief. For this purpose I stationed myself the next
morning just below the window of the kitchen of her house, which, by
hopping from the balcony, I was easily able to do, and by listening to
the conversation of the servants I soon learned all I wanted to know.
She was, as I had supposed, a little English g