Part 3 (2/2)

But for some strange reason he did not smile at all when he called ”Check!” He only bent his head over her hand and kissed it as he had kissed her mother's. It was the first caress he had ever given her.

She put the hand against her cheek and loved it when he was gone. And clambering up to bed she paused outside her mother's door.

”Maman, we were a little happy in the garden--” she whispered, ”were you happy in your garden?”

Interminable days followed, dreary days punctuated with quarrel after quarrel. It sometimes seemed to Octavia's unhappy daughter that there was nothing she could touch without Mademoiselle's disapproval.

The garments that had hung in the wardrobes, lovely things that tempted the beauty-loving child, were all packed away in the storeroom back of the linen closet; the bits of ornaments and jewelry that Octavia had let the child play with were all tucked away.

”It was Maman's--do not touch it!” ”That was Louisa's, you cannot have it!” Or most fearful cry of all, ”Put that shawl back, Felicia! It was Madame Josepha's--Louisa herself never wore it, it cost so much!”

The storeroom key was kept in the pocket of Mademoiselle's black silk ap.r.o.n. Gradually the miserly soul locked away all that seemed desirable or lovely to Felicia.

Of course there came a day when she stole the key and when she hid herself a whole blissful afternoon and rummaged joyously through dusty bandboxes and huge curved-top trunks. She had opened an iron-bound box last. And in the top had found a case marked,

”Mme. J. Trenton, 8 Rue de la--”

the rest was blurred. There were a lot of papers--all of them in French, in a queer old case of crushed leather. And when she thrust them carelessly underneath she found the tiniest muslin garments she had ever seen. They puzzled her greatly; she held one against her cheek instinctively.

”What a very little woman must have worn you--” she whispered, ”As little as--” she frowned, ”the thing made of string in the shop where we got the Wheezy--as little as Bab.i.+.c.he. I wish--I wish I could have seen as little a woman as that--”

She sprang up startled, Mademoiselle was coming. Felicia had the door locked and was standing outside, a slim, dusty, s.h.i.+ning-eyed figure when the woman began berating her. The girl slid cunningly along the wall, for Mademoiselle's wrinkled, trembling hand was stretched out as she demanded the key.

There was a grating, a round bronze grating in the side wall for the furnace pipe. Felice moved toward it. She was not answering Mademoiselle; just breathing hard, just staring.

Suddenly the key dropped. The two could hear it tinkling, down, down, through the rusty metal of the furnace pipe.

And that was the moment that the infuriated little French woman struck Felice.

The child was nearly as tall as the woman, she could have struck back, but instead she ran. She fled down the stairway, her angry breath coming in choking gasps. She flung herself against the door of her mother's room.

”Maman! Maman!” she screamed.

And that was where the Major found her.

”I hate--hate--hate--Mademoiselle!” And down the stair came the thin visaged French woman crying.

”And I monsieur, I hate zis ongrateful child! I theenk I hate your whole ongrateful race--I served your wife like one slave! And for Miss Octavia I was like two slaves! Zis child has ever hated me! I am weary of your whole race--I shall go back to ze country where I belong--”

So there they stood, those two antagonists, the woman with her eyes snapping and the outraged child with the tears streaming.

”Felicia,” the Major's tone was terrifying, ”you must apologize at once!”

Felicia was silent. She shook her head. The Major bowed to the French woman. ”I apologize for her,” he continued. ”But I think Mademoiselle D'Ormy, you are right. She is growing into a woman and you are growing into a child--” And whatever else he said after Felice had fled to the garden doesn't matter. Yet two days later when Mademoiselle bade her farewell the two enemies flung themselves on each others' necks and wept. Much to the disgust of the Major, who fairly shoved Mademoiselle away and who appeared not to see the sobbing and impetuous young person who dashed headlong to the nursery.

But after that life was much more serene, much sweeter. To be sure she could no longer ransack the storeroom. She never had to explain to the Major what had occasioned that last tempestuous quarrel but she roamed at will through the whole dusty house and possessed herself gloriously of all its treasures.

You should have seen her in those days, tricking herself out in what finery she could muster from the walnut bureau. For after Mademoiselle's departure the afternoon chess prolonged itself into twilight and Felicia proudly dined with the Major instead of in the nursery.

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