Of all things, Jeanne loved to give this magic touch.

There was no poker, but she managed just as well with a stick of unburnt wood, or sometimes, when she was _quite_ sure Marcelline was not looking, with the toe of her little shoe.

Just now it was Marcelline who set the fairy sparks free by moving the logs a little and putting on a fresh one behind.
"How pretty they are, are they not, Marcelline ?" said Jeanne.
Marcelline did not speak, and when Jeanne looked up at her, she saw by the light of the fire that she was smiling.

Jeanne held up her forefinger.
"Naughty Marcelline," she said; "you are not to smile.

You are to _speak_.