The Lonesomest Doll
“Mercy on me! What is that?” cried the good woman, starting back from the bed. And the Queen, frightened by this sudden movement, bobbed up her head from the pillow. And just at that moment a ray of moonlight came in at the window and showed the curly yellow hair flowing all about the little face, quite different from the straight black braids of Nichette.
“Mercy on me!” screamed Mother Marie again. “It is not my Nichette. It is a changeling,—a fairy child!” But the little Queen did not wait to let her examine closer. For she had had a new fright. A man’s loud voice was ringing through the cottage, and a man’s heavy tread was approaching the room where Marie’s scream had sounded.
With one bound Clotilde sprang from the bed, still clasping the naughty Mignon, who had spoken when she should not. And before Mother Marie could stop her or Nichette come out of her closet to explain, she had popped out of the window by which she had entered.
Away and away she ran, as fast as her feet would take her, towards the garden, as she thought. She did not know what she feared. But