lap and questioned her; in fact, she
would long ago have tenderly understood the signs of Pierrette's pure
and perfect innocence; she would have seen her weakness and known that
the disturbance of the digestive organs and the other functions of the
body was about to affect the lungs. Those eloquent patches would have
warned her of an imminent danger. But an old maid, one in whom the
family instincts have never been awakened, to whom the needs of
childhood and the precautions required for adolescence were unknown, had
neither the indulgence nor the compassionate intelligence of a mother;
such sufferings as those of Pierrette, instead of softening her heart
only made it more callous.

"She blushes, she is guilty!" thought Sylvie.

Pierrette's silence was thus interpreted to her injury.

"Pierrette," continued Sylvie, "before your cousin comes down we must
have some talk together. Come," she said, in a rather softer tone,
"shut the street door; if any one comes they will rung and we shall hear
them."

In spite of the damp mist which was rising from the river, Sylvie took
Pierrette along the winding gravel path which led across the lawn to the
edge of the rock terrace,--a picturesque little quay, covered with iris
and aquatic plants. She now changed her tactics, thinking she might
catch Pierrette tripping by softness; the hyena became a cat.

"Pierrette," she said, "you are no longer a child; you are nearly
fifteen, and it is not at all surprising that you should have a lover."

"But, cousin," said Pierrette, raising her eyes with angelic sweetness
to the cold, sour face of her cousin, "What is a lover?"

It would have been impossible for Sylvie to define a lover with truth
and decency to the girl's mind. Instead of seeing in that question the
proof of adorable innocence, she considered it a piece of insincerity.

"A lover, Pierrette, is a man who loves us and wishes to marry us."

"Ah," said Pierrette, "when that happens in Brittany we call the young
man a suitor."

"Well, remember that in owning your feelings for a man you do no wrong,
my dear. The wrong is in hiding them. Have you pleased some of the men
who visit here?"

"I don't think so, cousin."

"Do you love any of them?"

"No."

"Certain?"

"Quite certain."

"Look at me, Pierrette."

Pierrette looked at Sylvie.

"A man called to you this morning in the square."

Pierrette lowered her eyes.

"You went to your window, you opened it, and yo