My father beckoned me into the study one day, and said he--
'You ought not to give poor Madame so much pain. She is one of the few
persons who take an interest in you; why should she have so often to
complain of your ill-temper and disobedience?--why should she be compelled
to ask my permission to punish you? Don't be afraid, I won't concede that.
But in so kind a person it argues much. Affection I can't command--respect
and obedience I may--and I insist on your rendering _both_ to Madame.'
'But sir,' I said, roused into courage by the gross injustice of the
charge, 'I have always done exactly as she bid me, and never said one
disrespectful word to Madame.'
'I don't think, child, _you_ are the best judge of that. Go, and _amend_.'
And with a displeased look he pointed to the door. My heart swelled with
the sense of wrong, and as I reached the door I turned to say another word,
but I could not, and only burst into tears.
'There--don't cry, little Maud--only let us do better for the future.
There--there--there has been enough.'
And he kissed my forehead, and gently put me out and closed the door.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57