Then
Jean called out:
"Mimi."
She made no reply. The fact was she was too disturbed to be able to
reply.
Jean called again and then got out of bed and thudded across the room to
her bedside.
"I say, Mimi," he screeched in his insistent treble, "who _was_ it you
were talking to?"
Mimi's heart did not beat, it jumped.
"When? Where?"
"This afternoon, when I was having my hair cut."
"How do you know I was talking to anybody?"
"Ada saw you through the window of the barber's."
"When did she tell you?"
"She didn't. I heard her telling mamma."
There was a silence. Then Mimi hid her face, and Jean could hear
sobbing.
"You might tell me!" Jean insisted. He was too absorbed by his own
curiosity, and too upset by the full realization of the fact that she
had kept something from him, to be touched by her tears.
"It's a secret," she muttered into the pillow.
"You might tell me!"
"Go away, Jeannot!" she burst out hysterically.
He gave an angry lunge against the bed.
"I tell you everything; and it's not fair. _C'est pas juste!_" he said
savagely, but there were tears in his voice too. He was a creature at
once sensitive and violent, passionately attached to Mimi.
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