Oh, it was all terrible, notwithstanding grand'mère's passionate kisses to the little girl, and notwithstanding the fact that Alphonse and his Ninon were once more priceless treasures each to the other. Margot went about with a heavy burden on her small heart. She had told grandpère St. Juste a lie--yes, yes, there was no doubt on the subject. Her spirits, so happy and high; her animation so fragrant, so delightful to watch and listen to, seemed more or less to desert her. She used to sob bitter tears at night in her little cot and long beyond words for the moment when she might confess all to Uncle Jacko. The old grandpère noticed the difference in _la petite_ and much wondered at it. Ninon, his wife, also noticed it and did her best, her very best, to keep the knowledge from the eyes of the adorable Alphonse. Still the fact remained--_la petite_ was not what she was. She learnt a certain number of lessons from grandpère and enjoyed her music lessons, which _la belle_ grand'mère supplied her with. And she worked wonderful changes in the _établissement_ with her beautiful taste and delightful _chic_ appearance. But still there was the lie, always the lie, resting on her white little soul. On a certain occasion, _la belle_ grand'mère found _la petite_ Comtesse in floods of tears. "What is it, _ma chérie petite_?" she exclaimed. "Oh, _très drôle_, Oh _ma petite, c'est drôle_, to see the tears flow for no reason!" "But there is reason, grand'mère," said little Margot. "I have told a black, black lie." "Thou! _Ce n'est pas possible!_" "But I have, _ma_ grand'mère. I did it for thee, because thy trouble was so great. _Mon_ grandpère, he thinks that the _établissement_ belongs to Madame Marcelle. I got him to think so and he was contented. Oh, my heart, it is broken, it is broken! Grand'mère, my heart is broken in little bits. Canst thou not see?" Grand'mère burst into a low sweet laugh, not an angry laugh by any means, but one that puzzled _la petite_ Margot not a little. "Thou hast a genuine worship of the beautiful," she cried. "Thou dost help Madame Marcelle in her _établissement_. For me, my fears are at an end. Why dost thou weep, _ma petite_? Oh, _les belles robes et chapeaux_ that thou dost make the old women buy. No one else could do it but thee! The beautiful costumes thou dost give them, at the highest rates. Wherever does the lie come in, _ma petite_?" "Oh, _belle_ grand'mère," said little Margot, "thou dost know the shop is thine." "_Mais non, mais non_," cried Ninon, clasping her tiny hands. "The great _établissement_ at Arles _belongs_ to Madame Marcelle." "Then why didst thou cry and get so frightened that day, _ma belle_ grand'mère?" cried little Margot.