I felt sure that it was Mariette’s mother, and hurrying away to my new room, which was over the little archway sheltering the entrance, I shut the door and gave myself up to a fit of despair. I fancied that she had come to take my little pet away, to separate her from me forever, to deprive me of my property, and I cannot describe in any degree what I felt. The anguish of that moment was as great almost as I ever experienced in life. All I did within the next ten minutes I cannot tell, but one thing I know I did, which was to sit down and cry like a great baby. I would have given worlds to have known what was passing; but I did not listen though I might have done so easily from the top of my little stairs. But good Father Bonneville had so early, so well, and so strongly impressed upon my mind the duty of avoiding any meanness, that eaves-dropping seemed to me in those days almost as great a crime as murder. Indeed it was in somewhat of that shape that the good Father placed it before my eyes. “What right,” he said, “has one man to rob another of his secrets any more than of his money? They are both his property, and if they are not given they are stolen.” I was not very long kept in suspense, however, for by the time I had got my little coat off, and was still sitting on the edge of the bed crying, I heard the lady quit the good Father’s little study, and his voice speaking as he escorted her toward the door. I knew that Mariette could not have been awakened, dressed, and carried off in a quarter of an hour, and I went to bed and slept with a heart relieved. It was only a respite, however. Four days after that good Father Bonneville took an opportunity when Mariette and I were at play of telling her that she was that night to go away with her mamma, and take a long journey. He advised her therefore not to tire herself, but to keep as quiet as possible till the evening came, even if she could not lie down and take a little rest during the day. The poor child’s agitation was extreme. The idea of seeing her mother evidently gave her great delight, but the thought of going away from a house where she had been made so happy, and from a companion who loved her so much, seemed not exactly to qualify her joy, but to tear her between two emotions. Her face was, for an instant, all smiles and radiant with satisfaction. The next instant, however, she burst into tears, and snatching Father Bonneville’s hand she kissed it once or twice. Then pointing to me, she said, “Cannot I take him with me?” The good priest shook his head, and soon after left us to pass the time till the hour of separation came as best we might. I do not think he knew, and indeed it would be difficult to make any one comprehend, who has left the period of early youth far behind him, what were the feelings of Mariette and myself. I am very much inclined to believe from my own remembrances, that the pangs of childhood are much more severe than most grown persons will admit.