"Draw us the front of a theatre," said Gerald tactfully, "a French theatre."
"They are the same thing as the English theatres," Mademoiselle told him.
"Do you like acting--the theatre, I mean?"
"All right," said Gerald briefly. "We'll act a play for you--now--this afternoon if you like."
"Eliza will be washing up," Cathy whispered, "and she was promised to see it."
"Or this evening," said Gerald; "and please, Mademoiselle, may Eliza come in and look on?"
"But certainly," said Mademoiselle; "amuse yourselves well, my children."
"But it's _you_," said Mabel suddenly, "that we want to amuse. Because we love you very much--don't we, all of you?"
"Yes," the chorus came unhesitatingly. Though the others would never have thought of saying such a thing on their own account. Yet, as Mabel said it, they found to their surprise that it was true.
"Tiens!" said Mademoiselle, "you love the old French governess? Impossible," and she spoke rather indistinctly.
"You're not old," said Mabel; "at least not so very," she added brightly, "and you're as lovely as a Princess."
"Go then, flatteress!" said Mademoiselle, laughing; and Mabel went. The others were already half-way up the stairs.
[Illustration: DOWN CAME THE LOVELIEST BLUE-BLACK HAIR.]
Mademoiselle sat in the drawing-room as usual, and it was a good thing that she was not engaged in serious study, for it seemed that the door opened and shut almost ceaselessly all throughout the afternoon. Might they have the embroidered antimacassars and the sofa cushions? Might they have the clothes-line out of the washhouse? Eliza said they mightn't, but might they? Might they have the sheepskin hearth-rugs? Might they have tea in the garden, because they had almost got the stage ready in the dining-room, and Eliza wanted to set tea? Could Mademoiselle lend them any coloured clothes--scarves or dressing-gowns, or anything bright? Yes, Mademoiselle could, and did--silk things, surprisingly lovely for a governess to have. Had Mademoiselle any rouge? They had always heard that French ladies---- No. Mademoiselle hadn't--and to judge by the colour of her face, Mademoiselle didn't need it. Did Mademoiselle think the chemist sold rouge--or had she any false hair to spare? At this challenge Mademoiselle's pale fingers pulled out a dozen hairpins, and down came the loveliest blue-black hair, hanging to her knees in straight, heavy lines.