Part 79 (1/2)
She hastily roused herself. She re-entered the little salon, and upon a sign from Jean conducted Henri Lerouge and his sister to Jean's bedroom, where she a.s.sisted Mlle. Remy to remove her hat. For up to this time the party had been grouped in running conversation without having settled down.
”How you tremble, child!” exclaimed Andree,--”and you look so scared and pale. Is it, then, so bad as all that? What is the matter? Have they been quarrelling? I don't understand.”
”Andree!” whispered her brother, warningly. ”Remember the salt woman!”
Mlle. Fouchette raised one little nervous finger to her lips and gently closed the door.
”Pray do not seem to notice,” she whispered. ”But you did not know, then, that Jean and his father have been estranged, oh! for months?
That the poor young man had been cast off,--forsaken by father and mother----”
”But why?” insisted Mlle. Remy. ”It must have been something dreadful,--some horrible mistake, I mean. Why should----”
The confusion of Mlle. Fouchette was too evident to press this questioning. And it was increased by the curious manner in which the pair regarded her.
For a single instant she had wavered. She had secretly pressed her lips to her sister's dress, and she felt that she could give the whole world for one little loving minute in her sister's arms.
”Fouchette!”
At least one dilemma relieved her from another; so she flew to answer Jean's call, like the well-trained servant she was fast becoming.
”That's right, Fouchette. I'm glad to find you more attentive to our guests than I am. But I've been so confoundedly upset--and everlastingly happy. We shall want another plate. Yes, my father will honor us. I say, Fouchette, what a night! What a night!”
”I am so glad, Monsieur Jean! I am so glad!”
He considered her an instant and then hustled her into the kitchen and shut the door. ”Let us consult a moment, my pet.i.te menagere,” were his last words to be overheard. In the kitchen he took her hands in his.
”Look here, Fouchette! I owe my happiness to you. Everything, mind you,--everything!”
”But have I not been happy, too?”
”There! For what you have done for me I could not repay you in a lifetime, little one.”
”Then don't try, Monsieur Jean,” she retorted, as if annoyed.
”And I'm going to ask you to increase the obligation. It is that you will continue to preserve the character you have a.s.sumed,--just for this occasion, you know. It will save me from----”
”Ah, ca! It is not much, Monsieur Jean,” she interrupted, with a seraphic smile. ”To be your servant, monsieur, is---- I mean, to do anything to please you is happiness.”
”You are good, Fouchette,--so good! And when I think that I have no way to repay you----”
”Have I laid claim to reward?” she interposed, suddenly withdrawing her hands. ”Have I asked for anything?”
”No, no! that is the worst of it!”
”Only your friends.h.i.+p,--your--your esteem, monsieur,--it is enough.
Yet now that your affairs are all right and that you are happy, we must--must part,--it will be necessary,--and--and----” There was a pleading note in her low voice.
”Well?”
”You have been a brother,--a sort of a brother and protector to me, anyhow, you know, and it would wrong--n.o.body----”
The blood had slowly mounted to her neck as she spoke and the lips quivered a little as she offered them.