Part 22 (2/2)

This produced a general laugh, and there was the faint gleam of a smile on Rosa's face, as she looked up at the cage and said, ”_Bon jour, jolie Manon_!” But she soon sank into a chair with an expression of weariness.

”You are tired, darling,” said Madame, as she took off her bonnet and tenderly put back the straggling hair. ”No wonder, after all you have gone through, my poor child!”

Rosa clasped her round the neck, and murmured, ”O my dear friend, I _am_ tired, _so_ tired!”

Madame led her to the settee, and arranged her head comfortably on its pillows. Then, giving her a motherly kiss, she said, ”Rest, darling, while Tulee and I look after the boxes.”

When they had all pa.s.sed into another room, she threw up her hands and exclaimed: ”How she's changed! How thin and pale she is! How large her eyes look! But she's beautiful as an angel.”

”I never see Missy Rosy but once when she wasn't beautiful as an angel,” said Tulee; ”and that was the night Ma.s.sa Duroy told her she was sold to Ma.s.sa Bruteman. Then she looked as if she had as many devils as that Mary Magdalene Ma.s.sa Royal used to read about o'

Sundays.”

”No wonder, poor child!” exclaimed Madame. ”But I hope the little one is some comfort to her.”

”She ha'n't taken much notice of him, or anything else, since Ma.s.sa Duroy told her that news,” rejoined Tulee.

Madame took the baby and tried to look into its face as well as the lopping motions of its little head would permit. ”I shouldn't think she'd have much comfort in looking at it,” said she; ”for it's the image of its father; but the poor little dear ain't to blame for that.”

An animated conversation followed concerning what had happened since Tulee went away,--especially the disappearance of Flora. Both hinted at having entertained similar suspicions, but both had come to the conclusion that she could not be alive, or she would have written.

Rosa, meanwhile, left alone in the little parlor, where she had listened so anxiously for the whistling of _ca ira_, was scarcely conscious of any other sensation than the luxury of repose, after extreme fatigue of body and mind. There was, indeed, something pleasant in the familiar surroundings. The parrot swung in the same gilded ring in her cage. Madame's table, with its basket of chenilles, stood in the same place, and by it was her enamelled snuffbox. Rosa recognized a few articles that had been purchased at the auction of her father's furniture;--his arm-chair, and the astral lamp by which he used to sit to read his newspaper; a sewing-chair that was her mother's; and one of Flora's embroidered slippers, hung up for a watch-case. With these memories floating before her drowsy eyes, she fell asleep, and slept for a long time. As her slumbers grew lighter, dreams of father, mother, and sister pa.s.sed through various changes; the last of which was that Flora was puzzling the mocking-birds. She waked to the consciousness that some one was whistling in the room.

”Who is that!” exclaimed she; and the parrot replied with a tempest of imitations. Madame, hearing the noise, came in, saying: ”How stupid I was not to cover the cage! She is _so_ noisy! Her memory is wonderful.

I don't think she'll ever forget a note of all the _melange_ dear Floracita took so much pains to teach her.”

She began to call up reminiscences of Flora's incessant mischief; but finding Rosa in no mood for anything gay, she proceeded to talk over the difficulties of her position, concluding with the remark: ”To-day and to-night you must rest, my child. But early to-morrow you and the Signor will start for New York, whence you will take pa.s.sage to Ma.r.s.eilles, under the name of Signor Balbino and daughter.”

”I wish I could stay here, at least for a little while,” sighed Rosa.

”It's never wise to wish for what cannot be had,” rejoined Madame. ”It would cause great trouble and expense to obtain your freedom; and it is doubtful whether we could secure it at all, for Bruteman won't give you up if he can avoid it. The voyage will recruit your strength, and it will do you good to be far away from anything that reminds you of old troubles. I have nothing left to do but to dispose of my furniture, and settle about the lease of this house. You will wait at Ma.r.s.eilles for me. I shall be uneasy till I have the sea between me and the agents of Mr. Bruteman, and I shall hurry to follow after you as soon as possible.”

”And Tulee and the baby?” asked Rosa.

”Yes, with Tulee and the baby,” replied Madame. ”But I shall send them to my cousin's to-morrow, to be out of the way of being seen by the neighbors. He lives off the road, and three miles out. They'll be nicely out of the way there.”

It was all accomplished as the energetic Frenchwoman had planned. Rosa was whirled away, without time to think of anything. At parting, she embraced Tulee, and looked earnestly in the baby's face, while she stroked his s.h.i.+ning black hair. ”Good by, dear, kind Tulee,” said she.

”Take good care of the little one.”

At Philadelphia, her strength broke down, and they were detained three days. Consequently, when they arrived in New York, they found that the Mermaid, in which they expected to take pa.s.sage, had sailed. The Signor considered it imprudent to correspond with his wife on the subject, and concluded to go out of the city and wait for the next vessel. When they went on board, they found Madame, and explained to her the circ.u.mstances.

”I am glad I didn't know of the delay,” said she; ”for I was frightened enough as it was. But, luckily, I got off without anybody's coming to make inquiries.”

”But where are Tulee and the baby? Are they down below?” asked Rosa.

”No, dear, I didn't bring them.”

”O, how came you to leave them?” said Rosa. ”Something will happen to them.”

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