Part 16 (2/2)
As perfect as roses every one were her words kept. And Fontenette got his new business but could not come back that year, nor the second, nor the third. The hither-side of his affairs he a.s.signed for the time to a relative, a very young fellow, but ever so capable--”a hustler,” as our fat friend would say in these days. We missed the absentee constantly, but forgave his detention the easier because incidentally he was clearing up a matter of Senda's over there, in which certain displeased kindred had overreached her. Also because of his letters to her, which she so often did us the honor to show us.
The first few were brief, formal and colorless; but after some time they began to take on grace after grace, until at length we had to confess that to have known him only as we had known him hitherto would have been to have been satisfied with the reverse of the tapestry, and never fully to have seen the excellence of his mind or the modest n.o.bility of his spirit.
Frequently we felt very sure we saw also that no small share of their captivating glow was reflected from Senda's replies--of which she never would tell us a word. The faults in his written English were surprisingly few, and to our minds only the more endeared it and him. Maybe we were not judicial critics.
Yet we could pa.s.s strictures, and as the months lengthened out into years these winged proxies stirred up, on our side of the street, a profound and ever-growing impatience. O, yes, every letter was a garden of beautiful thoughts, still; but think of it! _pansies_ where roses might have been; and a garden wherein--to speak figuratively--the nightingale never sang.
On a certain day of All Saints, the fourth after the scourge, Senda sat at tea with us. Our mood was chastened, but peaceful. We had come from visiting at the sunset hour the cemetery where in the morning the two women and our old nurse had decked the tombs of our dead with flowers. I had noticed that at no tomb front were these tokens piled more abundantly, or more beautifully or fragrantly, than at those of Flora and the entomologist; it was always so. I had remarked this on the spot, and Senda, with her rearranging touch still caressing their splendid ma.s.ses, replied,
”So?--vell--I hope siss shall mine vork and mine plea.s.sure be until mineself I shall fade like se floweh.”
I inwardly resented the speech, but said nothing. I suppose it was over my head.
Now, at the table, she explained as to certain costly blooms about which I had inquired, that they were Fontenette's special offering, for which he always sent the purchase money ahead of time and with detailed requests.
Whereat, remembering how she had formerly glozed and gilded the entomologist's unthrift, I remarked, one-fourth in play, three-fourths in earnest,
”A good plain business man isn't the least n.o.ble work of G.o.d, after all.”
”No,” said Senda, without looking up; and, after a long, meditative breath, she added, very slowly,
”Se koot Kott makes not all men for se same high calling. If Kott make a man to do no betteh san make a living or a fawtune, it iss right for se man to make it; se _man_ iss not to blame. And now I vant to tell you se news of sat letteh from----”
”The other side,” we suggested, and invited her smile, but without success.
”Yes, from se osseh si-ide; sat letteh vhat you haf brought me since more as a veek ago; and also vhy I haf not sat letteh given you to read. Sat iss--if you like to know--yes?
”Vell, sen I vill tell you. And sare are two sings to tell. Se fairst is a ve'y small, but se secondt iss a ve'y lahge. And se fairst is sat that _I_ am now se Countess.
”So? you are glad? I sank you ve'y much. I sink sat iss not much trouble --to be a countess--in Ame'ica?
”Se secondt sing”--here a servant entered, and, it seemed to me, never would go out, but Senda waited till we were again alone--”se secondt-- pahdon me, I sink I shall betteh se secondt sing divide again into two aw sree. And se fairst is sat Monsieur Fontenette vill like ve'y--ve'y much to come home--now--right avay.”
We lifted hands to clap and opened mouths to hurrah, but she raised a warning hand.
”No, vait--if you plea.s.s.
”Se secondt of sose two or sree sings--it is sat--he--Monsieur Fontenette --ha.s.s ask me--” Our hearts rose slowly into our throats--”Ze vun qvestion to vich sare can be only--se--vun--answeh.”
At this we gulped our breath like schoolgirls and glowed. But the more show we made of hopeful and pleading smiles, the more those dear eyes, so seldom wet, filled up with tears.
”_He_ sinks sare can two answehs be, and he like to heah which is se answeh I shall gif him, so he shall know if he shall come--now--aw if he shall come--neveh.
”O my sweet friend,”--to Mrs. Smith, down whose, face the salt drops stole unhindered--”sare iss nossing faw _you_ to cry.” She smiled heroically.
I could be silent no longer. ”Senda, what have you answered?”
”I haf answered”--her lips quivered till she gnawed them cruelly--”I am sorry to take such a long time to tell you sat--but--I--I find sat--ve'y hahd--to tell.” She smiled and gnawed her lips again. ”I haf answered--
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