Marie Josephine nodded. Her tongue was dry, and for the moment she found it easier to nod than to speak. She had wiped away her tears from her face, but she felt them in her heart. Denise yawned and stood up. “I for one am sleepy. Bertran and I had a splendid ride. It is stupid of Le Pont, though, not to let us go out of the demesne just because that bailiff person said it was not safe. Why, our roads about Les Vignes are the safest in the whole world! Good night; and let us each one dream of the true loves we are going to have!” Denise laughed gaily and twirled around on her blue satin bedroom slippers, their crystal buckles sparkling in the firelight. When she had gone, Marie Josephine sat down on the floor in front of the fire. “You look so perfectly dear to-night with your hair caught up that way, Marie Josephine. I can shut my eyes and see you as you’ll be four years from now. The red shawl becomes you, too. Just wait, you’ll have your true loves, I’m sure of that!” Cécile said, leaning back against the dark brocaded velvet chair. Marie Josephine turned toward her eagerly. “Do you really think so, Cécile? Ah, tell me,” as she went on speaking she came close up to Cécile’s chair, kneeling with both hands on the arm of it, “Cécile, you will always love me. You’ll always trust me, won’t you?” There was something so intense in the look she gave her friend that Cécile leaned forward and gazed at her. “Why yes, yes, of course. What is it, Marie Josephine!” she exclaimed. “I—oh, nothing—that is, let me just give you a big hug.” Marie Josephine put both arms about her friend and hugged her. Then she jumped up quickly. “Proté will be tired waiting up for me. Good night, Cécile!” She ran over to the door, then turned and waved her hand toward Cécile, who waved back. Then she went to her own room. Proté tucked the bedclothes neatly about her when she said good night. She was one of those who could not think of Marie Josephine’s ever growing up, and she spoke authoritatively as she blew out the candle. “You must be careful about the chill night air, Little Mademoiselle. It is not good, you know. Keep well covered, and do not, I beg of you, go over to the window to see the moon!” Proté’s round face was serious. She felt a great responsibility toward all the children, especially the youngest one, the Little Mademoiselle. “Come here a minute, you funny Proté. Now bend over and I’ll squeeze you tight. Proté, look at Trudle. Hasn’t she a smug face? Never let them know that she sleeps with me. Can’t you fairly see their horror! 'She is nearly fourteen and she sleeps with her doll!’ Proté chérie, you are a dear and I love you. Here’s one more squeeze! Good night.” Proté returned her charge’s embrace fervently, and then went over to the doorway. As she went out she looked back at the little figure in the great bed. “Good night, Little Mademoiselle. God guard you!” she said.