He waved his cane with a triumphant air; but, as no one of the company hailed his idea with enthusiasm, he appeared astonished. “What, don’t you see it? Won’t it be for Lucien to receive his little guests? So you place him, dressed as a marquis, at the drawing-room door, with a large bouquet of roses on his coat, and he bows to the ladies.” “But there will be dozens of marquises at the ball!” objected Juliette. “What does that matter?” replied Malignon coolly. “The more marquises the greater the fun. I tell you it is the best thing you can hit upon. The master of the house must be dressed as a marquis, or the ball will be a complete failure.” Such was his conviction of his scheme’s success that at last it was adopted by Juliette with enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, a dress in the Pompadour style, white satin embroidered with posies, would be altogether charming. “And what about Jeanne?” again asked the doctor. The little girl had just buried her head against her mother’s shoulder in the caressing manner so characteristic of her; and as an answer was about to cross Hélène’s lips, she murmured: “Oh! mamma, you know what you promised me, don’t you?” “What was it?” asked those around her. Then, as her daughter gave her an imploring look, Hélène laughingly replied: “Jeanne does not wish her dress to be known.” “Yes, that’s so,” said the child; “you don’t create any effect when you tell your dress beforehand.” Every one was tickled with this display of coquetry, and Monsieur Rambaud thought he might tease the child about it. For some time past Jeanne had been ill-tempered with him, and the poor man, at his wits’ end to hit upon a mode of again gaining her favor, thought teasing her the best method of conciliation. Keeping his eyes on her face, he several times repeated: “I know; I shall tell, I shall tell!” Jeanne, however, became quite livid. Her gentle, sickly face assumed an expression of ferocious anger; her brow was furrowed by two deep wrinkles, and her chin drooped with nervous agitation. “You!” she screamed excitedly; “you will say nothing!” And, as he still feigned a resolve to speak, she rushed at him madly, and shouted out: “Hold your tongue! I will have you hold your tongue! I will! I will!” Hélène had been unable to prevent this fit of blind anger, such as sometimes took possession of the child, and with some harshness exclaimed: “Jeanne, take care; I shall whip you!”