Grandpère should know nothing about _la belle_ grand'mère being helped. She, Margot, _would_ help her. She kept these thoughts, however, quite to herself and _la belle_ grand'mère talked rapidly of the handsome appearance of the Irish Desmond and how most truly he fascinated the heart. Little Margot took no notice of this. She was absorbed in comforting grandpère. He certainly looked very old indeed in comparison with The Desmond. His black eyes had sunk further into his head, but he was rejoiced beyond words to have the child of his only son with him, and he kept patting her hand and saying, "_Très bien, la petite_, thou blessed one, thou angel, thou little cabbage." Margot did not feel in the least like an angel, but nevertheless she was determined to do her very utmost for grandpère and on his account for _la belle_ grand'mère. Madame la Comtesse, true to her word, had provided the most ravishing little costumes for _la petite_ to wear, and _la petite_ felt that the time had come when she might without any difficulty put on the pretty garments, which would be disliked and disapproved of at dear old Desmondstown. Her soft black hair, rippling, curling, flowing, fell far below her waist. Her small feet were encased in shoes of the most perfect and softest kid. This kid was of a delicate shade of blue. Her open-work stockings were to match her shoes. Then there was a little pale blue embroidered short frock, very simple, but oh, according to Madame and grandpère, _superb_. As a matter of fact, _la belle_ grand'mère had not trusted Madame Marcelle, but had sent to Paris for the little costume. The child danced about the room in delight, the old man's eyes glistened, Madame felt tears somewhere near her own eyes, but Margot of the Desmonds did not attempt to cry. It was not according to her ideas, _comme il faut_--oh, by no means at all, _comme il faut_. At last grandpère got tired and went to bed, then Margot went up to _la belle_ grand'mère, "I'm going to do it," she said. "I'm going to help you." "Thou blessed _enfant_!" exclaimed Madame. "Ah, _mon Dieu_, but thou art of the very best; distinguished is no word. Repose thyself, _mon enfant_. Thy dainty room is ready for thee, _petite_. To-morrow we will talk." "No," said Margot, "we will talk to-night. Now, this instant! We will settle, we will arrange, we will not put off. For me, I am under no promise. Thou dost want me in the _établissement_, I will go there for two hours each day. Thou and I between us will look after the old, very old grandpère. Thou art _trop fatiguée_ to do it all by thyself." "Ah, but thou art a true poem, a romance!" exclaimed the delighted Madame. "And wilt thou really serve in the _établissement, petite_?"