Is not that so, my little
mistress? Don't you remember how I had a little son, and how he called
me _chere maman_, and I called him _mon petit garcon_?"
As she spoke, she laid the cards one by one on her snowy apron. She
looked intently at them for several moments, then continued:
"No; I don't need to know anything, only that she is safe. _She_ will
always be carefully guarded from all harm, and my cards will always tell
me all I need know about _mon petit garcon_. No, your ladyship; I shall
not go with you; I cannot leave the place where my poor Henry died."
"Poor Lisette! what a tender heart is yours!"
"Mine?" suddenly and with unusual energy interrupted Lisette. "Mine a
tender heart? Ask this little lady here--who cannot tell a lie--if I am
not the woman who has the hardest, the most unfeeling heart in all the
world. Ask her that, your ladyship. Tell her, _mon petit garcon_," she
added, turning to Marie,--"tell the lady it is as I say."
"Lisette--dear Lisette," remonstrated Marie.
"Have you ever seen me weep?" demanded the woman.
"No, Lisette; but--"
"Did I ever sigh," interrupted Lisette, "or moan, or grieve, that time
when we spent many days and nights together in one room?"
"No, no; never, Lisette.
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