You don't know, Madame, how you hurt me.
Let us speak of something else.' 'You do know, and you must tell, petite dure-tete, or I will break a your little finger.' With which words she seized that joint, and laughing spitefully, she twisted it suddenly back.

I screamed while she continued to laugh.
'Will you tell ?' 'Yes, yes! let me go,' I shrieked.
She did not release it immediately however, but continued her torture and discordant laughter.

At last she finally released my finger.
'So she is going to be good cheaile, and tell everything to her affectionate gouvernante.

What do you cry for, little fool ?' 'You've hurt me very much--you have broken my finger,' I sobbed.
'Rub it and blow it and give it a kiss, little fool! What cross girl! I will never play with you again--never.

Let us go home.' Madame was silent and morose all the way home.