Fairy Fingers Part 43

"Ah, indeed! I did not perceive her; much obliged to you for telling me, for she conceals her age so well that I would not mortify her by letting her suppose that I am aware of her advanced years," continued the malicious little lady in a very audible tone.

Madame de Fleury was, in reality, but twenty-five, and particularly sensitive on the subject of her age, or rather of her youth. She expected to be taken for twenty-two at the most, and had been furious when Mrs. Gilmer talked of her bonnet as suitable to a person of thirty; but when her spiteful rival had the audacity to suggest that Madame de Fleury had even pa.s.sed that decisive period, she could scarcely contain her rage. By a sudden impulse she turned and faced the speaker. Both ladies made a profound courtesy, with countenances expressive of mortal hatred.

Lord Linden could not help whispering to Gaston, "Feminine belligerents!

Those courtesies were exchanged after the manner that men exchange blows. It is very strange," he continued, looking about. "I do not see my fair incognita, though she certainly entered here. I fancy the marchioness intends to depart; I prefer to linger awhile. There are several _salons_ yonder; I will steal off quietly and take refuge where I can watch who pa.s.ses."

Lord Linden had hardly disappeared before the marchioness remarked to Victorine, "You said my dress would be ready in an hour, Mademoiselle Victorine? I will take a short drive and return in that time. Let Mademoiselle Melanie know that I particularly wish to have an interview with her. I must see her about that unfinished dress which certainly shall not go to New Orleans."

She courtesied once more very profoundly to Mrs. Gilmer and departed, quite forgetting Lord Linden, who was well pleased not to be missed.

"Mademoiselle Melanie will not be so unjust as to let Madame de Fleury have that dress after refusing it to me," observed Mrs. Gilmer tartly.

"If she is, I _never more_"--

The threat was nipped in the bud, for she well knew no one could replace the sovereign modiste, and that the loss of Mrs. Gilmer's custom would not in the least affect Mademoiselle Melanie, who daily refused a crowd of applicants.

Recovering herself, the banker's wife concluded by saying, "Madame de Fleury is to return in an hour; very well; I will call somewhat later to learn Mademoiselle Melanie's decision. If the dress is not mine it certainly must not be Madame de Fleury's. We shall see if Mademoiselle Melanie's boasted justice is found wanting, or if she acts up to her professions."

M. de Bois conducted Mrs. Gilmer to her carriage, and returned to the _salon_; for he had an especial reason for desiring to see Madeleine; but, having called during the hours which she scrupulously devoted to her vocation, he did not feel at liberty to intrude in her private apartments.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MESSAGE.

Shortly after M. de Bois returned to the exhibition _salons_, Madeleine entered the workroom. Gaston could see her moving about among the young girls, distributing sketches, making smiling comments upon the occupation of this one and that; pointing out defects or praising execution. Every face seemed to brighten when it was turned toward her, and every countenance wore an unmistakable expression of affection. We might, perhaps, except that of Mademoiselle Victorine, whose high opinion of her own abilities made her somewhat jealous of Madeleine's supremacy. Yet, even she experienced an involuntary reverence for the head of the establishment, though golden dreams of some day leaping into her place were ever floating through the Frenchwoman's plotting brain.

Beside the table where Ruth was painting, Madeleine made the longest pause. She seemed disposed to converse with her young favorite; and Ruth smiled so gratefully that M. de Bois was half reconciled to the delay, though he had an important reason for wis.h.i.+ng to exchange a few words with Madeleine as soon as possible. The interval before she pa.s.sed out of the room to return to her boudoir appeared sufficiently tedious.

Gaston followed her and said,--

"Will you grant me a few moments, or are you very busy this morning?"

"Busy always," replied Madeleine, extending her hand to welcome him; "but seldom _too_ busy to lack time for my best friend. Will you come to my own little sanctum?"

The room to which Gaston followed her offered a striking contrast, in point of furniture, to those which they had just left. Madeleine's boudoir, though it had an air of inviting comfort, was adorned with almost rigid simplicity. The only approach to luxury was a tiny conservatory, she had caused to be built, rendered visible by gla.s.s doors.

Madeleine took her seat before a small rosewood table, and with a pencil in her hand, and a piece of drawing-paper before her, said, "You will not mind my sketching as we talk. I have an idea floating through my head, and I want to throw it off on paper; I can listen and answer, just as well, with my fingers occupied."

Well might Gaston contemplate her in silent and wondering admiration.

Neither her countenance nor her manner betrayed any trace of the suffering she must have endured on the day previous. She seemed to have completely banished its recollection from her thoughts. M. de Bois was fearful of touching upon the subject, it seemed so wholly to have vanished from her mind; yet his errand compelled him.

"What courage, what perseverance you possess, Mademoiselle Madeleine! It is incredible,--inexplicable," he said, at last, as he watched the delicate fingers moving over the paper.

"There you err," answered Madeleine, brightly. "It is, at least, very _explicable_, for it is in working that I find my strength, my inspiration, my consolation! It was _work, incessant work_, which sustained me when I determined to take a step from which my weaker, frailer part shrank. A step which utter wretchedness first suggested to me; which seemed terribly galling, oppressively revolting; which I ventured upon with inconceivable pain. Yet, as you have seen, I was enabled, in time, to look upon that step with resignation; I afterwards contemplated it with pride; I now regard it with positive pleasure. This could never have been had I not resolved to resist all temptation to brood over grief, and turned to work as a refuge from sorrow."

"And it is really true, then, that you, a lady of n.o.ble birth, dropping from so high a sphere into one not merely humble, but laborious, find your vocation a pleasure at last."

"It is most true," said Madeleine lifting her beautiful eyes, with such a radiant expression that the genuineness of her reply could not be doubted. "When one has, for years, lived upon the bare suffrage of others, no matter how dear,--when one has had no home except that which was granted through courtesy, compa.s.sion, charity,--you cannot conceive how delicious it is to dream of independence, of a home of one's own!

And this sweet dream has become reality to me more speedily and more surely than my most sanguine hopes dared to antic.i.p.ate. Think, in what a rapid, an almost miraculous manner my undertaking has prospered; by what magic my former life (that of an aristocratic lady who employed herself a little, but without decided results) has been exchanged for the delights of a life of active use, bringing forth golden fruition! In a word, how suddenly my poverty has been turned to wealth,--at all events, to the certain promise of opulence. And the most delightful sense of all is the internal satisfaction of knowing that I have done this _myself_, unaided; save, indeed, by the kindness, the counsel, the invisible protection of such a friend as you are, and such a friend as Mr. Hilson has proved."

"We have done nothing--but watch and admire."

"Nothing?" answered Madeleine, with gentle reproach. "Who helped me carry out all my projects? When a man's hand was needed, who stretched out his? but always with such prudence and delicacy that I could not be compromised. How helpless I should have been in Paris without you! And how many mistakes might I not have committed in America without Mr.

Hilson's aid! Little did he think, when he dined at the Chateau de Gramont, with a n.o.ble family, and asked one of its members to promise that if she ever visited America she would apprise him of her presence there,--little could he imagine how soon she would make a home in his native land, and of what inestimable aid his friends.h.i.+p would be to her."

"He has been truly serviceable," answered Gaston. "His advice was always good, and in nothing better than in deciding you to take this house, which you, at first thought too magnificent; he was wise, also, in persuading you to furnish it so luxuriously. He comprehended, better than you or I did, that a certain amount of pomp and show would make a desirable impression upon the inhabitants even of a republican country."

"Yes, I have cause to thank him for that counsel. And when I reflect that this house, which I at first thought too splendid, will soon become my own, I can hardly believe my good fortune. To-day, or to-morrow, I am to make the last payment of ten thousand dollars, and the house will be mine, clear of all inc.u.mbrance. I have the money ready, and probably before night it will be paid. This very morning, when I returned home, as I entered the door, I could not but pause suddenly, and say to myself, 'Is this no dream? Have I a home of my own, at last? Will this elegant mansion to-day become mine, and through the toil of'"--

"'Fairy fingers,'" interrupted Gaston.

"Something magical, I am inclined to admit," returned Madeleine, gayly.

"But had it not been for the earnest counsels of Mr. Hilson, I should never have felt justified in living in my present style; he convinced me that the money I expended in surrounding myself with all the elegances of life was laid out at interest; and I suppose he is right; these elegances have perhaps drawn the rich to my door."

"What was it that drew the poor?" asked Gaston. "You have tried to keep your charities as secret from me as your n.o.ble birth was kept from others, but accident has made me acquainted with more than you are aware. I know with what liberal hands you have succored the needy."

"Those who have endured the sharp sting of poverty themselves may well feel for the poor," replied Madeleine. "And yet, I do little enough for my poor human sisters and brothers; but we are gossiping very idly. Did you not say that you particularly wished to speak to me? It was not simply to make these sage reflections, was it?"

"No; but I shrank from touching upon the subject while you seemed so serene and happy. I could not bear to recall the painful interview with your family yesterday, when they--they--they"--

"When they cast me off!--spurned me as one degraded! Do not fear to speak out. My aunt is implacable,--I might have known that she would be,--and Count Tristan is the same."

"What matter? You have no need of their affection. And yet, the day will come when they will all seek you, and be proud and glad to claim you. I say it, and I feel it!"

Madeleine shook her head.

"And they did not _all_ throw you off. Was not Mademoiselle Bertha just what she always is? And was not Maurice,--though he appeared to be so completely overwhelmed that he could not command his voice,--was he not the same as ever?"

"_Was_ he the same, think you?" asked Madeleine, eagerly.

"Yes, I am sure of it; and I come here to-day as his messenger,--or, rather, as the herald of his coming."

Madeleine trembled, in spite of herself. The thought of beholding Maurice once more, of conversing with him, of listening to him, affected her too strongly for her to be able even to _a.s.sume_ indifference.

M. de Bois regarded her with an air of exultation.

"I have judged you rightly, then, and you are unchanged. Maurice is not less dear to you than"--

Madeleine's hand, appealingly lifted, checked him.

For a few moments she remained silent. When her tranquillity was somewhat restored, she said slowly, but in an altered tone,--

"You are the messenger of Maurice; what did he request you to say to me."

"He commissioned me to let you know that he earnestly desired an interview with you, at once,--and alone,--free from interruption. He entreats you to receive him to-day. I promised, as soon as I could make known to you his pet.i.tion, that I would return to him with your answer;--he awaits it impatiently. What answer shall I give him?"