“I do not find it at all difficult, Monsieur,” and she laughed gayly. “I assure you, I find it delightful to be a sister. I have never before been a sister, Monsieur, and I enjoy having a big brother immensely.” I glanced at her merry face, but saw there only guilelessness and innocent good will. My heart fell within me, and I cursed myself for a fool. “Well, Mademoiselle,” I began. “Oh, come, Monsieur,” she interrupted, “does a man always call his sister Mademoiselle?” “No more than a sister calls her brother Monsieur,” I retorted readily. “Well, my name is Nanette, as I have already had the honor of telling you,” she said. “And mine is Pierre.” She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Splendid!” she cried. “We are getting along famously. I think it is a very pretty name--Pierre. Now, what was it you were about to say?” In the shock of delight at hearing her pronounce my name, I had quite forgotten. But I rallied my wits with an effort. “I was about to say that at ten o’clock I shall call upon your uncle. I shall approach him with an assured air, as one who will not brook denial. I shall say to him that you would die rather than consent to this marriage and that you will not return home until he agrees to say no more about it.” “Ah, you do not know my uncle,” she said sadly. “Believe me, Pierre, he will never agree.” “In that case,” I answered, with a cheerfulness I confess I did not feel, “we will secure a cottage at St. Cloud, or some other delightful place. I will send for my sister who is in retreat at Aignan, and who would joy to come. You will love each other, I am sure. And there we shall all live happily together until your uncle does consent or until an apoplexy carries him off.” “That will be charming!” she cried, with dancing eyes. “I almost hope he will not consent, so that it may come true. But, Pierre,” and she hesitated. “Yes?” “All this will take money,” she continued, after a moment, “and you told me your fortune is not great.” “Well, I will increase it,” I declared, though I confess I had no idea how I should do so, unless I enlisted as a brigand under that arrant knave and prince of thieves, Cartouche. Yet not even that could I do--there was my sister--I had kissed the cross--you shall hear. She was silenced for a moment, and then took a purse from the bosom of her dress. “Will you keep this for me,” she asked, “and use it when there is need? ’Tis what I brought from home with me, my sweetmeat money.” “Impossible,” I protested. “Keep your money, Mademoiselle.” She looked at me a moment with quivering lips. “That is not like my brother,” she said at last. “My brother would understand that I do not wish to be a burden to him. At least, he would consent to keep it for me, for fear that I might lose it.” I reached out, took the purse, and placed it carefully in my bosom. “When you wish it again, you have only to ask for it, Nanette,” I said.