when one is seventeen, and has danced a few times with the same person, and has plucked the leaves of a daisy away to learn one's fortune, spoken words are not very much wanted.
At sight of her the eyes of the old woman moistened and grew dimmer than age had made them. She smiled still, but the smile had the sweetness of a blessing in it, and no longer the kindly banter of humour.
"You love him, my little one?" she said, in a soft hushed voice.
"Ah, Mère Alix!" Margot could not say more. She covered her face with her hands, and turned to the wall, and wept with a passion of joy.
Down in the Berceau there were gossips who would have said, with wise shakes of their heads, "Tut, tut! how easy it is to make believe in a little love when one is a serving-maid, and has not a sou, nor a roof, nor a friend in the world, and a comely youth, well-to-do, is willing to marry us!"
But Reine Allix knew better. She had not lived ninety years in the world not to be able to discern between true feeling and counterfeit She was touched, and drew the trembling frame of Margot into her arms, and kissed her twice on the closed, blue-veined lids of her black eyes.
"Make him happy, only make him happy," she
