"There's all that is left of my Christmas money," she said, sadly,
"seventeen francs and two sous. If it isn't enough to pay for the
cushions, I'll write to Cousin Kate, and maybe she will lend me
the rest."
Madame gathered up the handful of coin, and slowly rose. "It is only a
step to the carriage-house," she said. "If you will kindly ring for
Berthe to bring a lamp we will look to see how much damage has
been done."
It was an unusual procession that filed down the garden walk a few
minutes later. First came Berthe, in her black dress and white cap,
holding a lamp high above her head, and screwing her forehead into a
mass of wrinkles as she peered out into the surrounding darkness. After
her came madame, holding up her dress and stepping daintily along in her
high-heeled little slippers. Joyce brought up the rear, stumbling along
in the darkness of madame's large shadow, so absorbed in her troubles
that she did not see the amused expression on the face of the grinning
satyr in the fountain.
Eve, looking across at Adam, seemed to wink one of her stony eyes, as
much as to say, "Humph! Somebody else has been getting into trouble.
There's more kinds of forbidden fruit than one; pony-cart cushions, for
instance."
Berthe opened the door, and madame stepped inside the carriage-house.
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