They tell me there is something wrong at my heart, and that if I ever feel either glad or sorry I shall go off, pop, like a crow from a tree when it is shot, like a spark that falls into water.' The hairdresser meditated upon this for some time.

He did not believe her.

He had drawn the bright hair back now from the water, and was fondling it with his whitest and softest towels.
'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad ?' 'Good gracious, Mr.Saintou, my heart is not bad.

I know my catechism and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good dinner it is too.

What put it into your head that I had a bad heart ?' 'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake.