"But thou hast injured thy grandpère," said the poor little Comtesse. "That Dorothy is wicked, and has had her revenge. She found _mon_ Alphonse in the garden with the peaches and the bees, and she told him all about thee, _ma petite_. He fell in a swoon, his horror was great, but the _chères abeilles_ have stung her well." "And thou art weeping when I have made three thousand francs for thee," said little Margot. "I will go straight to grandpère and set him right." "Let the little one have her way, she has the genius," said the doctor. "You keep away, grand'mère; let me go alone to _mon_ grandpère," said Margot. And she ran in the direction of the _salon_ with the couch of down. Margot had a very gentle way of speaking, few things put her seriously out, and she was more pleased than otherwise at grandpère learning the truth. He was lying very still on his sofa; his face was white and a tear or two trickled down his withered cheeks. "Thou art not like The Desmond, grandpère," said little Margot. "The Desmond would not mind anything so trifling as a shop." "Ah, _ma petite, ma petite_," exclaimed the old Comte, and now he burst into floods of tears. Margot knelt by him and wiped his tears away very gently. "That flow of tears will give thee relief," she said. "Thou wilt be better, ah, better! Let me arrange _pour vous_, grandpère. I like putting the mighty from their seats. Oh, grandpère, I have such a beautiful story to tell thee!" The old man ceased crying, and looked at the little Comtesse with wondering eyes. "Perhaps it is a lie," he said. "Of course," said Margot, "there is a shop--but it is not _thy_ shop. It belongs to Madame Marcelle." "And not to my Ninon--oh, thank the God Almighty!"