A Girl of High Adventure by L.T. Meade

In the morning, the old Comte St. Juste was less feverish, but nevertheless not himself. He had, as he complained, a confused feeling. The world was full of Roses -- oh, the most _charmantes_ -- and of Clotildes equally divine. They were coming up the avenue in automobiles, they were entering the room, they were sitting with him, they were pouring into his ear the fact that his mission was not accomplished. He had gone to the _établissement_, but he had not seen _the little wonder_. He could not rest until he saw her. In vain Margot tried to soothe him. She longed beyond words to quiet his mind by telling him the simple truth -- that she was _la petite_, _she_ was the little wonder of the _établissement_ Marcelle. But when she hinted at such a proceeding to _la belle_ grand'mère, that poor woman gave a cry of bitter horror.

"Thou wilt kill _mon_ Alphonse; thou _wilt_ not be so cruel, thou _canst_ not be so cruel."