always takes her time! Madame Marcélite must always produce her effect! Ah, I know you, you ogre!" And she stopped again to pass her hands affectionately over the nurse's shoulders, which stood out like feather pillows.
"Now we will see what it is. A box, a work-box, a beautiful nécessaire. Thimble, see! it fits. Needles, scissors, thread,—evidently I am to do my own sewing in future. No more Marcélite to darn, no more Marcélite to mend. And another compartment underneath! A—h!"
The little compartment underneath was filled with gold dollars. At first one would have thought it jewelry. The nurse started more violently at the discovery than the young lady.
"It is what I have saved for you, Bébé!—for your wedding day,—ever since you were born, ever since your maman gave you to me."
Looking at the face before her, Marcélite tested another argument.
For a year she had not ventured to offer her earnings. She had uncomplainingly borne that the Goupilleaus should supplant her, the sole provider heretofore, but now—
