She had finished the arrangement of the dining-room and was busy in the kitchen when she heard her cousin Sylvie coming down. Mademoiselle Rogron appeared in a brown silk dressing-gown and a cap with bows; her false front was awry, her night-gown showed above the silk wrapper, her slippers were down at heel. She gave an eye to everything and then came straight to Pierrette, who was awaiting her orders to know what to prepare for breakfast. "Ha! here you are, lovesick young lady!" said Sylvie, in a mocking tone. "What is it, cousin?" "You came into my room like a sly cat, and you crept out the same way, though you knew very well I had something to say to you." "To me?" "You had a serenade this morning, as if you were a princess." "A serenade!" exclaimed Pierrette. "A serenade!" said Sylvie, mimicking her; "and you've a lover, too." "What is a lover, cousin?" Sylvie avoided answering, and said:-- "Do you dare to tell me, mademoiselle, that a man did not come under your window and talk to you of marriage?" Persecution had taught Pierrette the wariness of slaves; so she answered bravely:-- "I don't know what you mean,--" "Who means?--your dog?" said Sylvie, sharply. "I should have said 'cousin,'" replied the girl, humbly. "And didn't you get up and go in your bare feet to the window?--which will give you an illness; and serve you right, too. And perhaps you didn't talk to your lover, either?" "No, cousin." "I know you have many faults, but I did not think you told lies. You had better think this over, mademoiselle; you will have to explain this affair to your cousin and to me, or your cousin will be obliged to take severe measures."