Part 5 (2/2)
reported Madame Fortier.
”I didn't see but _three_ grease spots,” demurred Madame Garnier, ”and she really has lovely eyes and hair.”
”How badly that woman speaks French. Without the little girl to interpret, it would actually have been hard to know what she was saying.
Strange they don't know French better. But perhaps they don't have regular schools like ours.”
Madame Garnier made no answer to this conjecture, but asked, looking sideways at her neighbor, ”Shall you ask them to dinner?”
Madame Fortier all but groaned, and said in a martyr's tone, ”Oh, I suppose so, for Henri's sake.”
The other digested this thrust in silence, and then changed the subject.
”What was that she was saying about De Maupa.s.sant? Was she quoting him, to _us_? What did she take us for?”
”Yes, she didn't realize what we might think of her. It was that indecent Boule-de-Suif, too. But she knows so little French most likely she didn't understand what it was all about.”
”Have you read that?” asked Madame Garnier.
”Yes, I thought it my duty to, as a mother, to know what it is. But I burned the book, and you may be sure _I_ don't go around letting everybody know I've read it. Did you find her pretty?”
Madame Garnier answered obliquely, but quite understandably. ”I daresay a man would think so. I couldn't think of anything but her manners. How she lolled in her chair, and crossed her legs. I wouldn't want my Gabrielle to see her. And to my eyes she had a faded look. Queer, her being so fair. I don't see any trace of Indian blood. I thought all Americans had Indian blood.”
”Oh, no, Madame Garnier, my Henri says that....”
Madame Garnier made a gesture of one thoroughly out of patience with Henri, and ended the conversation abruptly, ”Oh, here we are at the corner. I must turn down here. Good-day, Madame Fortier.”
II
May 15, 1898.
The rosy, wrinkled face of the Sister of Charity shone out from the white quilled band over which the black veil was draped. Beside her the distinguished old lady showed, under her long c.r.a.pe veil, a face as quiet as that of the nun. The two elderly women sat at ease, their hands folded in their laps, chatting in a pleasant low tone.
”Yes, so every one says, a great deal of money, Madame la Marquise,”
said the nun in her murmuring monotone, ”as all Americans have.”
The other breathed out with a great wistful sigh, ”Oh, Soeur Ste. Lucie, if only the good G.o.d has sent us at last the opportunity to get our chapel.”
”Yes, yes indeed,” a.s.sented the nun, drawing in her breath sharply between her teeth. She raised her eyes, singularly bright and personal in her professionally pa.s.sive face. ”They say there is a child, too.
Perhaps a soul to save. Our Mother Superior always so zealous for the honor of our Order has asked us specially, specially ... the Bishop has so much to say about one of the Sisters of the St. Francis Order because of the conversion of a Swedish sailor, whom she nursed in their hospital. The Mother Superior hopes very much that some one in _our_ Order....”
”Yes, yes, I understand,” said the great lady, nodding.
The nun went on, deferentially, ”Madame la Marquise is so good to be willing to come to call on the foreign lady! I shall see to it that the foreign lady understands the honor done her.”
The other made a graceful deprecatory gesture with a shapely black-gloved hand, and explained with great simplicity and gentleness, ”Oh, no, ma soeur, it is nothing, nothing to praise. I would make a far greater sacrifice for the sake of our beloved work. But in this case, there is no risk of being misunderstood. It is not as though they were French bourgeois, who might have their heads turned. There can be no question of social equality with transient foreigners.” She smiled, bowed her head with humility and said, ”So you see, dear Soeur Ste.
Lucie, that I deserve no praise for making a sacrifice.”
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