Doubly false

It was finished. Money, the great magician, had done its work, and a prettier place than that modernized little house in the heart of a great city could not well be met with. The grounds were all in order—the straggling rosebushes were confined to their trellises and supporters once more—the great mound of heliotrope and verbenas was trimmed at the edges, and its glowing crimson and purple filled the eye with beauty and the air with perfume. The fountain was in full play; its bright waters cooled the air, and its basin was garlanded two feet deep with plants massed in rich combinations of color. Green mosses drank in the sparkling waters and covered the pots which contained the plants so richly that the whole great wreath of blossoms seemed to take life from its greenness. It was late in the season, but spring time, summer and autumn seemed to meet in that little nook of a garden, turning it into a Paradise.

Back of the house was a high iron fence, over which a Virginia creeper swept in and out, forming draperies inexpressibly graceful, which the first breath of autumn had turned crimson at the edges, where the leaves were most exposed. This background of green and crimson foliage framed in the house like a picture. The burning red more than replaced all the flowers that had perished.

Indoors the change was even greater. Upholsterers, painters and artists had done their work well. It seemed impossible that so much could have been completed in three days. But many hands had been busy on the ceilings, the walls and the floors—all that money, taste or labor could do had been forced into that young creature’s service, that her wedding might combine everything within the reach of a sensuous imagination. It was finished now—complete in all its appointments. Not a vestige of the old furniture remained; everything was new, fresh and the most exquisite of its kind.

That day week two servants came into the house—a man who scorned to speak any language but the French, and a woman who could converse with him brokenly, but her native tongue was German. Later in the day another woman came, broad African in every line of her face and curve of her body. On this woman the other two looked with supreme contempt.

In the basement these three persons assembled for the first time. They had been engaged in different points of the city, and no two of them had ever met before. As for the African, she could not understand a word that the others said, but she was shrewd enough to understand the sneers and contempt exhibited in their lifted shoulders and mobile eyebrows. Her heart resented these gestures, calling her fellow-servants poor white trash in the depths of her soul, which epithet, in its supreme contempt, was a full equivalent for their shrugs and sidelong glances.

When these three had looked on each other sufficiently, they felt a desire to investigate such appointments of the household as belonged to their individual callings. The man-cook fell to a critical examination of sauce-pans, kneading-boards, jelly moulds and freezes. Everything was there, and the most perfect of its kind. The smaller sauce-pans were all lined with silver; the flour-dredge, the nutmeg grater and spice boxes were altogether of that precious metal. In the drawers were piles of kitchen napkins, fine as those in general use at any gentleman’s table. The cooking apparatus was perfect, and covered with ever-so-many patents attesting the fact. Limpid water flowed abundantly through silver faucets, and light came in from the most desirable point.

At first the Frenchman was a little disappointed. He had hoped to find some deficiency to shrug his shoulders and spread his hands over in horrified refinement; but the perfect arrangement of everything took him by surprise. His hands and shoulders were lifted in astonishment. His admiration was uttered in bursts of French quite unintelligible even to the German woman.

“Great heavens, what perfection! and here, too! In Paris it would be nothing, but outside, across the Atlantic it is wonderful! This lady must be a genius; I am honored in serving her; she will appreciate the delicate aspirations which I shall give to her palate. There will be pleasure in exercising my art for her. Heavens! I have dropped into Paradise!”

The Frenchman sat down, smiling complacently on his little kingdom. He longed to share his exultation with some one, and looked around for the German woman, who had, however, left the room. But Hagar, the black servant, was there, standing in the door of the laundry, where she had been to inspect the stationary tubs and water-faucets. Their completeness brought a smile to her broad face and revealed a row of teeth, white as ivory in themselves, and rendered whiter still from contrast with her black skin.

The Frenchman was willing to put up with this auditor if no better could be found. He burst forth in a torrent of French, broken up in ejaculations, which drove the smile completely from Hagar’s face. She thought that he was scolding her, and grew frightened. Seeing that this was the result of his eloquence, he subsided into gesticulations and grimaces which made the negress laugh till her sides shook. She was a plump, comely African, and the laugh that heaved her full bust had all the mellowness of a deep contralto voice just as it bursts into tune.

The Frenchman was in despair. What was the use of being supremely satisfied if no one would sympathize in that satisfaction with him? That sort of mellow laughter was not sympathy. He might as well have iron as silver in his utensils for any heed she took of the subject.

Just then the German woman came back to the kitchen. She had been up stairs to examine the chambers and the toilet arrangements. They were superb. Bohemian glass, mounted with pure gold; a dressing-box of malachite with such appointments! gold, gold, gold—nothing but gold—all contrasting so richly with the clouded green of the malachite; she had never seen anything more superb—she, who had possessed the honor of waiting on many a lady of rank in her time. In this country it was wonderful—beyond belief! She could not understand it! The lady they were to serve must be some princess to whom privacy was an object. What would be her own situation; until positive of that she would be watchful and silent. So she came down quietly and asked what it was which had excited the contraband, for with that word even she had become familiar,—who could help it in those times? At any rate they had all been very fortunate.

Hagar caught the word contraband, and understood that if nothing else.

“Yes,” she said, coming eagerly forward, “I is contraband, driv clar away up Noth by de war. Sot free when Mars Sherman march by old Mars’ plantation. Don’t know what yer sayin more en dat, but Ise contraband, and I glories in dat truf, Hallaluyah—thar!”

Having uttered her manifesto, Hagar retreated into a corner of the kitchen and sat down triumphant. If those two people didn’t understand her, she couldn’t help it, “dey was poor white trash anyhow, and de berry next time dey looked at her so she’d sing ole John Brown right in dere faces. Bressed be de Lord, she could sing!”

The Frenchman and the German woman looked at each other in amazement, then, after a volley or two of French exclamations, they began to laugh, for Hagar’s gesticulation had been more effective than her words. Then Hagar caught the word, put her threat in force, and broke forth defiantly into “Old John Brown,” a gentleman with whom her auditors were entirely unacquainted, both in fact, and in history. But they had heard good singing enough to understand the superb fullness and depth of that voice which defied them with all its force, and stood listening, surprised and charmed.

When Hagar finished with an angry motion of the head, which seemed to shake the last mellow notes up from her chest, the Frenchman came forward, bowing and smirking, with his hand extended.

“Madam, or perhaps it is mademoiselle, permit me to offer my homage. That voice is one grand success. I give you my honor it is one grand success, madam. I am charmed; mademoiselle, here, is charmed also. The air is superb, the words must be what we call stirring—they reach one’s heart—upon my honor, they reach the heart.”

Hagar saw that he was complimenting her, and showed her teeth liberally through the broad smile that swept her face.

“Dat ar music brought him plump on em knees—taut it would. Dat old John Brown took him right off en his feet. I ain’t nuffin but a contraband, sure nuff but Ise done it for him.”

With this comfortable self-assurance, Hagar folded her arms over the broad chest, which still seemed heaving with unexpressed music, and closing her eyes, pretended to sleep.

The two persons, thus left together, sat down and held a few words of conversation.

“Mademoiselle—is it Mademoiselle or Madam?”

“Madam,” answered the German woman, giving a guttural sound to the word which made the Frenchman shiver. “Madam, if you please.”

The French cook seemed disposed to press her confidence further; but that moment the door bell rang and brought Hagar to her feet.

“It’s the young missus!” she exclaimed, going up stairs in haste and opening the front door, where she dropped a low courtesy as Cora Lander walked through, clad in rich mourning, so heavily trimmed with bugles that it swept the marble pavement like a hail storm, as she moved.

“Have the other people come?” she inquired.

“Yes, missus, dey am here. Shall I call dem up?”

“No, no; I will go down to the basement.”

Cora swept through the hall and down the stairs in haste. She had only seen her new servants at the intelligence offices, and wished to give them directions.

The Frenchman and his companion both arose as she entered the kitchen. Since they had seen the house the new mistress had become an object of great curiosity to them.

“Your name is Alice Ruess, I think?” she said, addressing the woman. “Step into the servants’ parlor, I wish to speak with you.”

Alice arose and followed her mistress into the front basement, which was more expensively furnished than most gentlemen’s drawing-rooms.

“Sit down,” she said, addressing Alice. “Understand, I look upon you as half mistress of this house; in fact no other mistress must be known, at least for the present.”

“Madam!” exclaimed Alice, surprised out of all composure, “I do not understand.”

“But you must understand. I shall live in this house, be its mistress and your mistress in fact, but it is a fact that must not exist outside these walls. To the world you are Mrs. Ruess, the lady of the house. Your name will be upon the door. When the mistress of the house is inquired for, you must present yourself.”

“But, madam, I have no money—no means.”

“I find the money and pay the bills that are made out in your name.”

“Ah, very well, that makes it easy.”

“But, remember, there must be no company.”

“Not a soul, mademoiselle.”

“After to-morrow you will call me madam.”

“Madam—is my lady married then?”

“She will be after to-morrow.”

“Ah, I begin to comprehend. It is a secret marriage.”

“Alice Ruess, this marriage is to be kept so secret that it will be almost a fortune to any one who keeps it safely for me—ruin to the creature who betrays it. To-morrow night I shall be married in this house—your house, remember.”

“I shall not forget, lady.”

“Your house, not only to the outside world but to the other servants.”

“I understand. Madam or mademoiselle shall be obeyed.”

“It must be understood that we board with you—that is, my husband and myself.” Cora felt a warm flush spread up to her face as she uttered the words “my husband,” and a sigh, of such exquisite pleasure that it seemed almost like pain, broke up softly from her bosom. Alice Ruess smiled covertly, and felt a sort of envy creeping through her heart, of the beautiful young creature who was just entering a life in which she had been shipwrecked. “It must be also understood that we have just come from abroad, which is the truth—”

“Ah, forgive me, but I thought so!” exclaimed Alice, interrupting her. “Such taste, such grace, were never born or fostered in this country.”

Cora bent her head in reply to this intended compliment, and went on:

“You—pay strict attention to this—knew us in the old country—came over in the same steamer—”

“Indeed I did.”

“And for that reason—being too wealthy yourself for the need of such means—you took us as inmates.”

“Lady, I am listening.”

“To-morrow the bills for all that has been done here will be sent in. You must pay them—they are made out to Mrs. Alice Ruess—here is money. I have made a rough computation; there will be plenty left for the household expenses for weeks to come. Take it, and remember to keep a strict account. I can be generous, but no one must cheat me.”

“Is mademoiselle afraid to trust her money with me?” said Alice, turning red with anger. “Does mademoiselle mean that?”

“No, I mean nothing of the kind. Were I afraid, you would have no opportunity to cheat me. I only wish to draw a line clearly between that which I will give and that which I place in your hands for specific purposes. Be faithful, and we shall have no reason to complain of each other.”

“Lady, I will be faithful.”

“Alice Ruess, I believe you.”

Cora arose as she spoke, all her other directions she gave standing.

“The cook—can you judge, Alice—is he what they recommend him to be?”

“Lady, I think so.”

“The supper to-morrow night must be perfect.”

“Supper for how many, lady?”

“Two.”

“What, no more?”

“Only two—us two, alone,” she muttered in English, while a gleam broke through her half-closed eyelashes as she looked modestly down.

“A little supper, very perfect, for two. That man will prepare it—I answer for him.”

“As for the rest, let the lights be shaded, get flowers the choicest and sweetest—you should have taste, I see it in the kindling of your eye—yes, I will leave that with you; see that they are not gathered before sunset, we must have no wasted perfume. If I could rifle sweetness from the flowers of Paradise for him I would do it—I would though they never bloomed again.”

Cora spoke these last words in English, but the woman read them in her face, and hers clouded over. Once she had felt like this herself. How had it ended?

Cora shook out the folds of her heavy silk dress and prepared to go.

“Be sure and have nothing wanting,” she said; “I depend on you entirely.”

“Will not mademoiselle stay all night?”

“Not for the world. I might dream, and that would be a terrible beginning. No, it is almost time for the train, and I have a carriage at the door.”

“But the name, lady? I have not as yet heard your name.”

“True enough. Well, it is no matter about that just now—to-morrow evening I shall be Mrs. Seymour. A pretty name, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, lady, a very pretty name; may you be happy in bearing it.”

“Happy!” cried the girl, almost clasping her hands. “Nothing shall—nothing can prevent that.”

Again Alice looked away, and again her face clouded over; she almost hated that radiant young creature, because of her faith in the man she loved and in the destiny which united them.

“It is almost time for the train,” said Cora, taking a watch from her side, glittering with diamonds that formed a raised monogram on the back—his initials and hers, for Seymour had given it to her out of the paltry thousands which she had considered as hardly worth mentioning. “It is almost time—let me think—I have said everything; you understand my wishes.”

“Trust to Alice, lady, she will not disappoint you.”

“Well then, good-night; I hope those people in the kitchen will suit; they are highly recommended.”

“Yes, highly recommended. What, will you go out this way?”

“Certainly; it does not matter,” said Cora, opening the basement door and drawing the thick crape veil over her face, but she came back again with some anxiety on her face.

“The dresses, have they come?”

“Yes, lady, you will find a pile of paper boxes in the dressing-room.”

“That is pleasant. How prompt these people have been. I never knew what a glorious worker money was before.”

The young girl said this half aloud as she mounted the steps and stood in the flower garden. They had obeyed her well. She felt the freshness given to the air by the play of the fountain. Some drops fell upon her veil and trembled there like lost diamonds. The perfume of late roses swept over her. Again that delicious sigh rose and swelled in her bosom.

“All this—and he loves me. Was the love of Venus herself ever more richly surrounded? I have beautified this place for him. It is my taste, my wealth, my great love for him, that has done it all. I give him love, gold, beauty, and by-and-by position. He should have had all at once—everything I have on earth—if he would but have waited. Waited, no, he loved me too well for that; and I loved him a thousand fold better because he won me from all my strong holds with such impetuous affection. It is, like being carried off by violence, forced into such happiness as the soul grows faint in thinking of, and this will endure for a lifetime. I wonder if it will. Can such love die? How empty and blank my heart would be without it!”

These were the eager ejaculations and broken questions that chased each other through Cora Lander’s mind as she drove to the station and took her seat in the cars. She had seen Seymour in the city, a few moments, three days before, but fearing that he might prematurely guess at the exquisite home she was preparing for him, had sent him back to the country tavern, promising to meet him at the log cabin that night and arrange for the future. It was scarcely dark when she reached the station, for a fine round moon was just rising, and by its light she found her way into the grove and along the footpath which led to the cabin, certain that she would find him there, waiting for her with all that ardent longing which filled her own heart.