Ringfield Part 23

"Indeed I would, Pauline. Indeed, indeed I would."

"This is too droll! For here am I, pining to get away and be free of this place for ever! But that's because I belong here."

"Yes, and because you have no children to think about. If you had--you'd understand. While Schenk's alive he may find me any day in New York, but I don't believe he'd ever think of looking for me here.

My mother'd know how to send the children along, I guess, and they'd always have enough to eat and drink, and fresh air and a place to play in, and I'm sure Mr. Poussette would be kind to them. You know he's a funny-talking man, but he's got a real good heart, and Maisie and Jack might have a good time here."

"Yes, I know, but----" Miss Clairville's aristocratic and sophisticated side was dubious.

"But what? It's all very well for you, just making a fresh start, getting married and going to Europe and wanting to see a little more of the world than the Champlain House and St. Ignace, but I've had enough of the world--too much! I want to bring up my children honest, honest and respectable, and I can't do it, Pauline, in one room on Sixth Ave.

Maisie, now, wants to be out in the streets every evening; she'd rather--than stay with me at the theatre even."

"How old is Maisie?" asked Miss Clairville suddenly.

"Why, she's most eleven years of age, I reckon. Let's see! I met Stanbury in--seventy-seven; Maisie--yes, she's just eleven, and Jack's nine and half. Say--wasn't it a good thing that I didn't have any family to Schenk?"

"How can you be so very vulgar!" said Miss Clairville with a curling lip. "But I suppose it was a good thing--the Will of G.o.d--according to Father Rielle. Eleven! And Angeel's nine. Nearly ten."

"Angeel? Who's she? You don't mean to tell me that you----"

"What do you mean?" said Miss Clairville fiercely. "What right have you to imagine such things? I'll tell you some day about Angeel, but just now I prefer to discuss something pleasant. We will resume our packing, my dear. Here is this blanket coat. What am I to do with it?"

"Give it away, of course. You'll never wear it again, Pauline, where you're going!"

"I know I shan't," replied Miss Clairville, compressing her lips as she regarded with a critical eye the antiquated wine-red garment adorned with a white sash, and tuque to correspond. "But I look so well in this, too!"

"If you don't want it, let me have it for Maisie. Why--it would be just the thing for her, running around here all winter! Say, Pauline--ain't it funny to think she's the child of an English swell?

Stanbury's from a real good family, I can tell you. I guess your Mr.

Hawtree would be likely to know all about him. You might ask him.

Then there's this white evening dress. My--it's dirty enough, goodness knows! It ought to be French cleaned, but who's to do it in this out-of-the-way place? Here are a lot of roses falling out of it--do they belong to it?"

"That's my Camille dress. The roses go around the skirt--see?--in garlands: same around the waist and on the hair. I might turn it into a _peignoir_, I suppose. But I think I will give it to you, Sara; you can keep it till Maisie grows up and do it--how do you say?--do it over for her. Is she fair or dark?"

"Dark--just like Stanbury. Say, won't you tell me about Angeel now?"

"No, no! _O--pour l'amour de Dieu_, don't drag her in at this time!

Haven't I enough to worry me? What shall I do if Edmund breaks out again? I haven't seen him all day."

Miss Cordova was very thoughtful for an instant.

"Seems to me you ought to've had more under-clothes," she said solemnly, and Pauline laughed. "And what you have got are far too plain. My--the ones I saw just before I came away from New York! Say, Pauline--there was twenty-five yards of lace, honest, to one nightgown!"

"Was there? At Sorel we were not allowed one yard; frilly things, and too much lace and ribbons are the mark of bad women. Did you ever hear that?"

"I guess my mother held some notions like those. She used to say--quality was the thing, and was never satisfied till she got the best lawn, soft as silk, but she never had much tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on them. Cut plain and full, was almost always her directions. Well, now--yes, I guess you'll have to wait till you go to Paree before you replenish that side of your wardrobe. Is your Mr. Hawtree free with his money?"

"Yes, yes!" rejoined Pauline hurriedly. The fact being that after the initial flourish and purchase of a few pieces of jewellery and other trinkets Crabbe had tightened his purse-strings, as it were, not from miserliness, but because it was necessary to use caution until they reached London, when larger sums would be paid over on due recognition of his ident.i.ty. "Free enough for the present. As for me, I have saved nothing, nothing! How could I, with this need for ready money hanging over me? So I do not like to ask too much, just now, and, like a man, he provides me with diamond earrings while I lack proper shoes and an umbrella."

"Take mine!" said Miss Cordova earnestly. "It's real silk and it won't matter if there's an 'S' on the handle. It was his--Stanbury's."

"My dear girl," cried Pauline, "I couldn't! You'll need it yourself.

See--it's silver mounted and valuable!"

"I know it, and that's why I want you should have it. We've been good friends, Pauline, even if there is a difference in our education, and I'd like to give you some little thing. Do please take the umbrella."

All Miss Clairville's latent womanliness sprang to the surface as she jumped off the bed and enfolded her friend in a warm embrace.

"G.o.d knows, you will never be forgotten by me, Sara! We've struggled together too long for that. You have a sweet temper and a kind heart, and _le bon Dieu_ takes note of that. I wish now you _could_ marry Mr.

Poussette, for I see that you'll miss me when I'm gone, and that's not a bad idea about your children. I hope I'll never have any; I'd be afraid, I'd be afraid. Well, I'll accept the umbrella then, _in memoriam_ if you like. And you take the white dress, and these long yellow gloves, and this sash for Maisie, and here's a _bijou_ imitation watch and chain for Jack--eh? What's the matter?"

Miss Cordova leant heavily on her friend.

"They are calling us," she said.

"Who are?"

"I don't know. Listen! Some one's wanted. It's me. It's me.

Perhaps Schenk's come! Pauline, what shall I do?"

"Absurd! No one can get here; you forget the roads and the snow.

Schenk? He is miles away!"

"Then it's for you. Yes. They're coming up. Listen--it is you, 'Ma'amselle Clairville,' I hear them say!"

"But why be so alarmed?" cried Pauline, and she threw open the door.

Antoine Archambault and Poussette stood outside.

"Your brother the seigneur is dying, mademoiselle," said Poussette, "and desires to see you at once. There is no time to lose."

"What is it?" asked Miss Cordova, not comprehending the foreign tongue, and they told her.

Miss Clairville's face changed. She trembled visibly, made the sign of the cross--so potent is habit, so strong are traditions--but uttered nothing.

"She is ill!" said Miss Cordova, and she led her friend to a chair.

"No, no, I am not ill. But I do not want to go. _Je ne le veux pas_.

I do not wish at all to go. I will not go, Sara!"

"It's hard, I guess," said the other woman sympathetically, "but it's natural he should want to see you before he dies. Of course, she'll go, Mr. Poussette, and I'll go with her."

"No, no!" said Pauline, starting up, "if I go it must be alone. But why should I go?"

She looked piteously from one to the other. "What good can I or anyone do to him if he is dying? Perhaps there is some mistake."

Antoine spoke in voluble French in accompaniment to Poussette's gestures, and at the words she drooped appallingly.

"Come, Pauline, perhaps it will not be so terrible after all. You were going to visit him this week anyway."

"I know, I know, but this is different, dreadful, startling. It makes me so--I cannot describe. Who is with him? Only Mlle. Poussette! Oh, why--why? It will spoil my marriage, Sara; perhaps it will prevent my marriage!"