Clotilde, the Queen
how could this be the proud, haughty, disagreeable little Queen whom Nichette did not love? Yet there was Mignon, beautiful also; and the Queen did not love her, but had neglected her and made her the lonesomest doll. Nichette’s eyes flashed, and she rose to her feet unafraid, clasping Mignon tight.
“I came to see the poor lonesomest doll whom you do not love. I came to tell her that I love her though I am not her truly mamma, and to hug and kiss her as dollies like to be hugged and kissed,” she said.
The Queen’s cheeks turned a shade pinker. “She is my doll,” she said coldly. “How dared you touch her? How did you get in?”
“My father is Pierre the Porter,” answered Nichette bravely. “I found his bunch of keys to-day and I came to see Mignon. I have not hurt her, and she is very happy.” The Queen looked at the doll closely hugged in Nichette’s arms, and a strange look came into her face.
“Do you really think she cares?” she asked.
“Of course she cares,” said Nichette. “Dolls33
