"Why, that French woman there?" sobbed Deborah, pointing to Jeanne, who, burning with indignation all the more because my mother had imposed silence on her, stood behind her mistress' chair. "Did not she say that she would have me out of this house in a twelvemonth, and that when her young lady ruled the roast in the parlor it would be her turn in the kitchen?" "I don't believe she said so," said my mother; and she translated Deborah's remark for Jeanne's benefit. "Indeed, indeed, madame, I never said such a word," was Jeanne's reply. "I never thought of such a thing. I had too much respect for Deborah, let alone Madame Corbet, ever to say a thing so un-polite, so improper." "What did you say to Mrs. Betty then, when she asked you about it?" demanded Deborah, beginning to calm down a little. "Nothing at all," was the answer. "Mrs. Betty said to me that she supposed I should be the—what say you?—the manager, when Mrs. Vevette and the young master were married, and that she hoped I would give them more nice things than Mrs. Deborah did; to which I answered nothing; for it did not seem to me, craving madame's pardon, that it was a proper way for a young lady of the house to speak to a servant. So, when she added something more, I said I was Madame d'Antin's servant, and at her disposal; and I added no more. My feelings have been much hurt by Mrs. Deborah's remarks of late; and to-day especially I was so moved by her treatment of my salad—ah, madame! Such noble salade des écrevisses! That I fear I forgot myself. Alas, it is too easy to wound the heart of an exile and a childless mother." And here Jeanne wept in her turn, and Deborah began to look rather ashamed, and to mutter some thing about "not meaning." "I see how it is," said my aunt, who with all her easiness of disposition was not a person to be despised. "Deborah has allowed herself to be prejudiced, and to believe her mistress capable of the most unworthy conduct." "Oh, mistress, don't!" implored Deborah, weeping afresh. "And she has been guilty of great unkindness toward a stranger and a foreigner, and one of her own religion," added my aunt, with emphasis; "while Jeanne has perhaps been too hasty and ready to take offence." "I own it, madame," sobbed Jeanne in her turn; "I have been too hasty; but to be called a Jesuit, when I have suffered so much by them; and then my beautiful salad, which the young master used to like so much in France—" "Well, never mind," said my aunt. "I am sure Deborah is sorry she called you by such an ugly name; and as to the salad, I think if we can forgive the loss, you can. Come, now, let me see you shake hands and make friends, like Christian women; and let me hear of no more quarrels." The two combatants obeyed, with a very decent grace on Deborah's side, and with considerable effusion on that of Jeanne, who adored my aunt, and, to do her justice, was always placable.