anst not help it.'

'I will. I will tell my father what M. le Baron reads and sings, and
then I know he will.'

'And welcome.'

Eustacie put out her lip, and began to cry.

The 'husband and wife,' now eight and seven years old, were in a large
room hung with tapestry, representing the history of Tobit. A great
state bed, curtained with piled velvet, stood on a sort of _dais_ at
the further end; there was a toilet-table adorned with curiously shaped
boxes, and coloured Venetian glasses, and filagree pouncet-boxes, and
with a small mirror whose frame was inlaid with gold and ivory. A large
coffer, likewise inlaid, stood against the wall, and near it a
cabinet, of Dutch workmanship, a combination of ebony, ivory, wood, and
looking-glass, the centre retreating, and so arranged that by the help
of most ingenious attention to perspective and reflection, it appeared
like the entrance to a magnificent miniature cinque-cento palace, with
steps up to a vestibule paved in black and white lozenges, and with
three endless corridors diverging from it. So much for show; for
use, this palace was a bewildering complication of secret drawers and
pigeon-holes, all depending indeed upon one tiny gold key; but unless
the use of that key were well understood, all it led to was certain
outer receptacles of fragrant Spanish gloves, knots of ribbon, and
kerchiefs strewn over with rose leaves and lavender. However, Eustacie
had secured the key, and was now far beyond these mere superficial
matters. Her youthful lord had just discovered her mounted on a chair,
her small person decked out with a profusion of necklaces, jewels,
bracelets, chains, and rings; and her fingers, as well as they could
under their stiffening load, were opening the very penetralia of the
cabinet, the inner chamber of the hall, where lay a case adorned with
the Ribaumont arms and containing the far-famed chaplet of pearls.
It was almost beyond her reach, but she had risen on tip-toe, and was
stretching out her hand for it, when he, springing behind her on the
chair, availed himself of his superior height and strength to shut the
door of this Arcanum and turn the key. His mortifying permission to his
wife to absent herself arose from pure love of teasing, but the next
moment he added, still holding his hand on the key--'As to telling what
my father reads, that would be treason. How shouldst thou know what it
is?'

'Does thou think every one is an infant but thyself?'