Part 12 (2/2)

Auntie Sue did not want to eavesdrop. She would not have listened to the children if she could have helped herself. But the fact of the matter was that Auntie Sue became rooted to the floor, and she could not move.

For the first thing she heard was Jeanne's voice saying, ”Oh, Margot! I hate all those silly clothes! I hate being a model. I want to be just a little girl.”

Jeanne's voice was bitter. Is it any wonder that Auntie Sue could not move from the spot on which she was standing? She grasped the door k.n.o.b to keep herself from falling.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHAMPAGNE VINEYARDS NEAR EPERNAY]

Then the conversation went on.

”Then why do you do it?” asked Margot's voice.

”Because,” came Jeanne's, ”I dare not tell Auntie. She works so hard and takes such good care of me. You see, I have no mother and father.”

There was silence, and then Jeanne's voice went on, ”My papa was a soldier. But Auntie does not know where he fell.”

Again silence and then Margot said, ”I think your aunt would let you play if you would ask her to.”

”No,” Jeanne replied, ”I would not ask her. I must show the clothes. She could not sell them if I did not show them first.”

There was a short silence and then again came Jeanne's voice, ”I just want to be a little girl. I want to play!” The last word ended in a sob.

For the next few moments Auntie Sue did not hear anything. Indeed she hardly knew anything, so stunned and shocked was she.

Auntie Sue did not know how it was that she ever opened the door. She did not know how she ever came to leave that apartment.

It was fortunate that Madame Villard and Margot's mother were out.

Children do not always notice things the way grown people do.

But Margot wondered, after Jeanne and her aunt had left, why Auntie Sue's eyes had been so big and frightened and why she had hardly said good-bye.

CHAPTER XVII

A CALL FOR HELP

Major d'Artrot called to his wife, ”Come; see! A letter has arrived which calls me to Paris. I must leave at once.”

Madame d'Artrot read the letter.

”Dear, dear Major d'Artrot,” it said, ”You are my only friend, and I must ask you to come to my aid. I am in trouble. I need help and I am ill. Please come to me.

Suzanne Moreau.”

”Why, that is Auntie Sue,” said Madame d'Artrot, a surprised note in her voice. ”She has such a successful shop, I am told. What can be the matter?”

[Ill.u.s.tration: A DIJON MUSTARD SHOP]

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