says that he can no longer remain in the house.  And why?  Simply because of you.”  Another pause ensued.  Presently she continued in a tone which clearly showed that her speech had been prepared beforehand, “I had hoped that you would be grateful for all his care, and for all the trouble that he has taken with you, that you would have appreciated his services; but you—­you baby, you silly boy!—­you actually dare to raise your hand against him!  Very well, very good.  I am beginning to think that you cannot understand kind treatment, but require to be treated in a very different and humiliating fashion.  Go now directly and beg his pardon,” she added in a stern and peremptory tone as she pointed to St. Jerome, “Do you hear me?”

I followed the direction of her finger with my eye, but on that member alighting upon St. Jerome’s coat, I turned my head away, and once more felt my heart beating violently as I remained where I was.

“What?  Did you not hear me when I told you what to do?”

I was trembling all over, but I would not stir.

“Koko,” went on my grandmother, probably divining my inward sufferings, “Koko,” she repeated in a voice tender rather than harsh, “is this you?”

“Grandmamma, I cannot beg his pardon for—­” and I stopped suddenly, for I felt the next word refuse to come for the tears that were choking me.

“But I ordered you, I begged of you, to do so.  What is the matter with you?”

“I-I-I will not—­I cannot!” I gasped, and the tears, long pent up and accumulated in my breast, burst forth like a stream which breaks its dikes and goes flowing madly over the country.

“C’est ainsi que vous obeissez a votre seconde mere, c’est ainsi que vous reconnaissez ses bontes!” remarked St. Jerome quietly, “A genoux!”

“Good God!  If she had seen this!” exclaimed Grandmamma, turning from me and wiping away her tears.  “If she had seen this!  It may be all for the best, yet she could never have survived such grief—­never!” and Grandmamma wept more and more.  I too wept, but it never occurred to me to ask for pardon.

“Tranquillisez-vous au nom du ciel, Madame la Comtesse,” said St. Jerome, but Grandmamma heard him not.  She covered her face with her hands, and her sobs soon passed to hiccups and hysteria.  Mimi and Gasha came running in with frightened faces, salts and spirits were applied, and the whole house was soon in a ferment.

“You may feel pleased at your work,” said St. Jerome to me as he led me from the room.

“Good God!  What have I done?” I thought to myself.  “What a terribly bad boy I am!”

As soon as St. Jerome, bidding me go into his room, had returned to Grandmamma, I, all unconscious of what I was doing, ran down the grand staircase leading to the front door.  Whether I intended to drown myself, or whether merely to run away from home, I do not remember.  I only know that I went blindly on, my face covered with my hands that I might see nothing.