'I really don't know anything of his will. If papa has made one, he has never spoken of it to me. I know he loves me--that is enough.' 'Ah! you are not such little goose--you do know everything, of course. Come tell me, little obstinate, otherwise I will break your little finger. Tell me everything.' 'I know nothing of papa's will. You don't know, Madame, how you hurt me. Let us speak of something else.' 'You do know, and you must tell, petite dure-tête, or I will break a your little finger.' With which words she seized that joint, and laughing spitefully, she twisted it suddenly back. I screamed while she continued to laugh. 'Will you tell?' 'Yes, yes! let me go,' I shrieked. She did not release it immediately however, but continued her torture and discordant laughter. At last she finally released my finger. 'So she is going to be good cheaile, and tell everything to her affectionate gouvernante. What do you cry for, little fool?' 'You've hurt me very much--you have broken my finger,' I sobbed. 'Rub it and blow it and give it a kiss, little fool! What cross girl! I will never play with you again--never. Let us go home.' Madame was silent and morose all the way home. She would not answer my questions, and affected to be very lofty and offended. This did not last very long, however, and she soon resumed her wonted ways. And she returned to the question of the will, but not so directly, and with more art. Why should this dreadful woman's thoughts be running so continually upon my father's will? How could it concern her? CHAPTER VII _CHURCH SCARSDALE_ I think all the females of our household, except Mrs. Rusk, who was at open feud with her and had only room for the fiercer emotions, were more or less afraid of this inauspicious foreigner. Mrs. Rusk would say in her confidences in my room--