pupil, she cared not a jot. Smart, trim and pert, she stood, a hand in each pocket of her gay grisette apron, eyeing Dr. John with no more fear or shyness than if he had been a picture instead of a living gentleman.
"Le marmot n 'a rien n'est ce pas?" said she, indicating Georgette with a jerk of her chin.
"Pas beaucoup," was the answer, as the doctor hastily scribbled with his pencil some harmless prescription.
"Eh bien!" pursued Rosine, approaching him quite near, while he put up his pencil. "And the box—did you get it? Monsieur went off like a coup de vent the other night; I had not time to ask him."
"I found it: yes."
"And who threw it then?" continued Rosine, speaking quite freely the very words I should so much have wished to say, but had no address or courage to bring it out: how short some people make the road to a point which, for others, seems unattainable!
"That may be my secret," rejoined Dr. John briefly, but with no sort of hauteur: he seemed quite to understand the Rosine or grisette character.
