"I shall tell Madame Joubert! I shall tell Madame Joubert!"

"_Ma chère_!'" whispered the little ones outside. "Oh, but look at
them! _Elles font les quatre cents coups_!" which is equivalent to
"cutting up like the mischief."

And with reason. As if such an influx of the world upon them at this
moment were not sufficient of itself to damn them. But to tell Madame
Joubert! With all their dresses made and ready, wreaths, veils,
candles, prayer-books, picture-cards, mother-of-pearl prayer-beads,
and festival breakfasts with admiring family and friends prepared.
Tell Madame Joubert! She would simply cancel it all. In a body they
chorused:

"But, Pupasse!"

"_Chère_ Pupasse!"

"_Voyons_, Pupasse!"

"I assure you, Pupasse!"

"On the cross, Pupasse!"

"Ah, Pupasse!"

"We implore you, Pupasse!"

The only response--tears, and "I shall tell Madame Joubert."