Here, finding the fire in the salon nearly out, we went down upon our knees
and blew the embers with our breath, and laughed so merrily over our work
that by the time the new logs had caught, I was as much at home as if I had
known Monsieur Maurice all my life.
"_Tiens_!" he said, taking me presently upon his knee and brushing the
specks of white ash from my clothes and hair, "what a little Cinderella I
have made of my guest! This must not happen again, Gretchen. Did you not
tell me yesterday that your name was Gretchen?"
"Yes, but Gretchen, you know, is not my real name," said I, "my real name
is Marguerite. Gretchen is only my pet name."
"Then you will always be Gretchen for me," said Monsieur Maurice, with the
sweetest smile in the world.
There were books upon the table; there was a thing like a telescope on a
brass stand in the window; there was a guitar lying on the couch. The
fire, too, was burning brightly now, and the room altogether wore a
cheerful air of habitation.
"It looks more like a lady's boudoir than a prison," said Monsieur Maurice,
reading my thoughts. "I wonder whose rooms they were before I came here!"
"They were nobody's rooms," said I. "They were quite empty.
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