Pierrette slipped timidly into her cousin's bedroom, made the fire,
left the hot water, said a few words, and went to wake Rogron and do
the same offices for him. Then she went down to take in the milk, the
bread, and the other provisions left by the dealers. She stood some
time on the sill of the door hoping that Brigaut would have the sense
to come to her; but by that time he was already on his way to Paris.
She had finished the arrangement of the dining-room and was busy in
the kitchen when she heard her cousin Sylvie coming down. Mademoiselle
Rogron appeared in a brown silk dressing-gown and a cap with bows; her
false front was awry, her night-gown showed above the silk wrapper,
her slippers were down at heel. She gave an eye to everything and then
came straight to Pierrette, who was awaiting her orders to know what
to prepare for breakfast.
"Ha! here you are, lovesick young lady!" said Sylvie, in a mocking
tone.
"What is it, cousin?"
"You came into my room like a sly cat, and you crept out the same way,
though you knew very well I had something to say to you."
"To me?"
"You had a serenade this morning, as if you were a princess."
"A serenade!" exclaimed Pierrette.
"A serenade!" said Sylvie, mimicking her; "and you've a lover, too."
"What is a lover, cousin?"
Sylvie avoided answering, and said:--
"Do you dare to tell me, mademoiselle, that a man did not come under
your window and talk to you of marriage?"
Persecution had taught Pierrette the wariness of slaves; so she
answered bravely:--
"I don't know what you mean,--"
"Who means?--your dog?" said Sylvie, sharply.
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