‘I will have it!’

‘Thou shalt not have it!’

‘Diane says it is mine.’

‘Diane knows nothing about it.’

‘Gentlemen always yield to ladies.’

‘Wives ought to mind their husbands.’

‘Then I will not be thy wife.’

‘Thou canst not help it.’

’I will.  I will tell my father what M. le Baron reads and sings, and then I know he will.’

‘And welcome.’

Eustacie put out her lip, and began to cry.

The ‘husband and wife,’ now eight and seven years old, were in a large room hung with tapestry, representing the history of Tobit.  A great state bed, curtained with piled velvet, stood on a sort of dais at the further end; there was a toilet-table adorned with curiously shaped boxes, and coloured Venetian glasses, and filagree pouncet-boxes, and with a small mirror whose frame was inlaid with gold and ivory.  A large coffer, likewise inlaid, stood against the wall, and near it a cabinet, of Dutch workmanship, a combination of ebony, ivory, wood, and looking-glass, the centre retreating, and so arranged that by the help of most ingenious attention to perspective and reflection, it appeared like the entrance to a magnificent miniature cinque-cento palace, with steps up to a vestibule paved in black and white lozenges, and with three endless corridors diverging from it.  So much for show; for use, this palace was a bewildering complication of secret drawers and pigeon-holes, all depending indeed upon one tiny gold key; but unless the use of that key were well understood, all it led to was certain outer receptacles of fragrant Spanish gloves, knots of ribbon, and kerchiefs strewn over with rose leaves and lavender.  However, Eustacie had secured the key, and was now far beyond these mere superficial matters.  Her youthful lord had just discovered her mounted on a chair, her small person decked out with a profusion of necklaces, jewels, bracelets, chains, and rings; and her fingers, as well as they could under their stiffening load, were opening the very penetralia of the cabinet, the inner chamber of the hall, where lay a case adorned with the Ribaumont arms and containing the far-famed chaplet of pearls.  It was almost beyond her reach, but she had risen on tip-toe, and was stretching out her hand for it, when he, springing behind her on the chair, availed himself of his superior height and strength to shut the door of this Arcanum and turn the key.  His mortifying permission to his wife to absent herself arose from pure love of teasing, but the next moment he added, still holding his hand on the key—­’As to telling what my father reads, that would be treason.  How shouldst thou know what it is?’

‘Does thou think every one is an infant but thyself?’

’But who told thee that to talk of my father’s books would get him into trouble?’ continued the boy, as they still stood together on the high heavy wooden chair.