“But--but indeed I would care to come, Monsieur Maurice, if you had nothing
at all to show me,” I said, half hurt, half angry.
He gave me a strange look that I could not understand, and stroked my hair
caressingly.
“Come often, then, little one,” he said. “Come very often; and when we are
tired of pictures and microscopes, we will sit upon the floor, and tell
sad stories of the deaths of kings.”