But little Margot was not to get off quite so easily. She was to have her trials the same as other people. There was not the slightest doubt whatsoever that Margot had a nature far above the ordinary. It was strong, it was brave, it had a sort of noble simplicity about it. She was proud of her race, both on her father's and her mother's side, but she could not see the slightest harm in assisting la belle grand'mère with the établissement. She did see, however, a good deal of harm in annoying, nay more, in seriously injuring, the lives of two dear old men, both of them in their own way the dearest old men in the world. Of course The Desmond was the best of all—he was grand, noble, superb; but there was also something très magnifique, according to la belle grand'mère, in Monsieur le Comte St. Juste. He was so feeble, too, and so old; he must not be hurt for anything in the world.
Margot thought nothing whatsoever about her supposed dot, but she sympathised with la belle grand'mère in keeping all knowledge of le magasin from M. le Comte. The little Madame idolised the sweet girl, and poured her troubles into those sympathetic ears.
"Behold, behold!" she cried. "There would not be l'argent for mon Alphonse if thou didst not do thy noble best; if I did not keep the établissement going. He wants his comforts, that aged and beloved one."
"Ah, oui, je comprens," said little Margot.
And she did comprehend, and kept her word.
After a few weeks had gone by, Madame la Comtesse gave orders to her servants not to admit anyone, old or young, man or woman, into the presence of M. le Comte. The servants assured her that they would obey her to the very letter. They loved her because she was so bright and gay and obliging. They did not in the least mind whether she kept a magasin or not. Did she not load them with gifts? Was there ever quite so good a place to serve in as the Château St. Juste?
Yes, they loved Madame, and they adored la petite Comtesse.
But it so happened that the old M. le Comte, lying against his pillows of down, thought a great deal about his granddaughter. Henri was indeed a boy to be proud of, but after all he was nothing to la petite. He wasted l'argent; la petite seemed never to spend anything. Was justice being done to this charming little creature by the father of Henri? He troubled himself about this. He became anxious.
One day he spoke to Madame la Comtesse.
"Madame," he said, "thou hast given up thy établissement?"
"Ah, oui, certainement, Alphonse," was the quick answer of Madame.
"Tell me now from the bottom of thy heart, Madame, what provision we can make for la petite Comtesse."
Madame named a sum which certainly staggered the old man.
"Thou must be très riche," he said.
"Ah, oui, it is the will of God!" replied Madame. Then she added, stroking his silvery hair and laying her piquant face close to his. "Dost thou not remember, thou superb, angelic one, that on the day we received la Comtesse, a notary came and settled on her the sum I have mentioned?"
"Ah, oui," answered M. le Comte. "I remember and yet I forget. The aged, they always forget. It is the trial of old age not to remember."
"It is un fait accompli," said Madame. "Fret not thyself, chère Alphonse."
The old Comte smiled.
"I like to think of our little one," he said, "always and ever surrounded by the luxuries of life. When she is older, much older, we will marry her to a man, young and beautiful and of great rank. She is worthy of the best and she shall have the best."
"Mais oui, mais oui," answered Madame.
"But I have been thinking," pursued M. le Comte, "that her education is not progressing. We could not permit her to return to the school, where that ugly M'selle was taught to tell the black lies."
"Non," said Madame. "Certainement, non."
"But I want her to go to a school," said M. le Comte. "Why dost thou frown, my adored Ninon?"
"Because I am thinking," she replied. "There is but one school in Arles worthy of la petite, and that is held by la Princesse de Pleury; but alas, even that school is not what it used to be. There used to be there only les demoiselles the most refined, the highest in rank."
"Not the grass-green, ha! ha!" laughed the Comte.
"Thou art right, my adored one, not the grass-green. I, too, have thought of the education of la petite. It is of the utmost importance. Why not place her in the hands of a gouvernante? There is one, M'selle de Close. She is connected with M'selle de Blanc. She is of high rank and of great intelligence, and between M'selle de Close and M'selle de Blanc, we can have la petite taught in this, thine own château, all the things that belong to the best society."
"Of what age are those M'selles?" asked the Comte.
"M'selle de Close is eighteen; M'selle le Blanc one year more. They are young, but they are finished—ah, to the most complete!"
"And what knowledge can they impart?" asked M. le Comte.
"They'll teach her all those things that a young M'selle should know. They will keep her mind, mark you, M. le Comte, as white as a white marguerite, and they will impart to her those graces of society which are essential to le bon mari by-and-bye. They can come here day about, at two of the clock, and spend until four with la petite."
"Send them to me one at a time," said the Comte, "and let me interview them alone."
Accordingly Madame la Comtesse went that very day to a unique and charming little flat in a unique and charming part of Arles. It was called "Le Cabinet de Beauté. The lady who entered the room on the arrival of Madame called herself Félicité. She held up her hands, arched her brows and said:
"Ah, Madame, have you come to me indeed? Have you come at last, that I may perform on you my art? Behold how little it is, and how much. It finishes never, see, Madame? Behold, I will mark out to you your day! You must have the chocolat, you must rise never later than eight o'clock, and promenade on foot for les douches. This exercise preserves the form. Then, behold, the masseuse appears and makes miracles of the hands. Afterwards you rest as is necessary, and M'selle Blanc does the rest. Ah, but she is a veritable artist is M'selle Blanc. You want us; you have come. I am at your feet, beautiful Madame!"
"I want you not at all," said Madame la Comtesse. "The good God himself has given unto me the cheeks of roses and the eyes so bright and the figure so straight. But behold, listen! There is ma petite, the idol of her grandfather, the adored of her belle grand'mère. M. le Comte knows nothing of my établissement, and he must never know, never, never! There are things which all women of fashion learn, and I want you, M'selle Close, and that other gracious lady, M'selle Blanc, to come day about to the château in order to instruct la petite, but you must not touch on the make up, comprenez-vous? It would be fatal. L'enfant toujours; that mind so white must be kept white; but you must teach her, M'selle Close, such things as the English and the French and the German and the géographie for two hours every other day, and on the other days, M'selle Blanc shall teach her. You must be at the château for two hours each day, but before anything is firmly established, you must go to the château and acquaint M. le Comte with the fact that you are a poor gouvernante, one of the high nobility. You must present yourself to him as M'selle de Close, and your friend must be M'selle de Blanc; and I will pay you well, ah well; that is, if you keep strictly to your post; keep firmly to the lessons which I have set you—the white heart to be kept white; the holy things to be instructed to la petite, comprenez-vous?"
"Ah, oui," said M'selle Close. "And you will pay well, Comtesse?"
"According to your merits will I pay. I care not how much, so long as it pleases mon mari. Get ready at once and I will drive you, M'selle Close, to the Château St. Juste."
M'selle certainly saw a good thing before her. She dressed according to the directions of Madame very simply and quietly. She removed the rouge from her cheeks and the artificial darkness from beneath her eyes. She was no longer a pretty woman, but she was, according to Madame, one with l'air distingué.
Soon they reached the château. Little Margot had not yet returned home. She was at her dancing class and was perfectly happy.
Madame rushed gaily into the presence of mon Alphonse.
"I have found her and she is a treasure. Listen, harken, she belongs to the nobility. She is M'selle de Close. Her friend also is M'selle de Blanc. She is poor, but she is simple, aristocratic, learned. She will teach thy granddaughter for two hours every second day. On alternate days M'selle de Blanc will do likewise. I have brought her back with me for thee to see."
"Ah, but I am tired!" said the Comte. "I did not know that thou wouldst be si vite, ma Comtesse."
"Ah, but vite is the word," cried la Comtesse; "for youth it flies, months go by, years go by. Behold, whilst thou art looking round, taking a little nap—ah, no more, just a little nap, la petite will grow up. Wilt thou, then, see M'selle de Close?"
"Yes, thou art ever right, Comtesse," replied the old Comte. "Present me to M'selle. I will treat her with that courtesy which a lady should receive."
Now M'selle Close, as she was really called knew well where her bread was buttered, and she was in consequence quite able to answer the enquiries made by that gracious and most aristocratic old person, M. le Comte.
"I will try you for one month," he said. "You will be here at two to the minute to-morrow, and then, behold! it will be my pleasure to be present while you instruct my granddaughter."
But here M'selle drew up her head in a very haughty way.
"Alas, M. le Comte," she said. "I am poor and low in the world, but I have my little pride, my last rag of possession. I share that rag with my beloved friend, M'selle de Blanc. We could not be treated as though we meant to impart evil, we must be trusted or we can do nothing. We must decline this generous offer of yours, M. le Comte, unless we are treated as ladies of rank. La petite Comtesse will not suffer at our hands, but we must teach her each in our turn alone. Is it to be, M. le Comte? For there is the house of one who seeks our services, and we can go there if you do not permit."
"For one month I permit," said the Comte. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings, M'selle. I was only full of interest at the thought of listening to the knowledge which you will pour into the ears of la petite Comtesse."
"Ah, well, M'sieur, I cannot change, I await your decision."
"You shall teach her alone," said M. le Comte. "Send your friend to see me to-morrow and come yourself as arranged, to begin those instructions which demoiselles of rank require."
"Ah, oui, M'sieur, oui, you indeed belong, as I do myself, to the ancienne noblesse."
The arrangement was quickly arrived at. The two ladies were interviewed by M'sieur le Comte, and both completely had their own way with him. Madame la Comtesse had a little talk with Margot, and on a certain Thursday the lessons so unique and perfect began.
Unique and perfect they were not, but they interested Margot, who listened with the colour rising to her cheeks and her velvety black-brown eyes fixed on the faces of her teachers. She still pursued her French in the town of Arles and talked it with M'selles de Close and de Blanc. She also read a little history, all in the French tongue, but occasionally her lovely eyes were fixed with a sort of dull amazement on the faces of these faded women, who no longer dressed to captivate their customers at the Cabinet de Beauté, showed their true age which was anything but young.
When the first week was over and the ladies had departed, little Margot skipped into her grandfather's room, flung herself on her knees by his side, and told him about les pauvres gouvernantes.
"Dost thou like them, my little one?" asked M. le Comte.
"No, grandpère," was the reply.
"Why dost thou say that? Thy words arrest and alarm me."
"They are only wooden dolls," said la petite Comtesse. "They have no thoughts. I do not think they can instruct me, for I—I wish not to be vain, but I know more than they do."
M. le Comte was much distressed at hearing this.
"I like thy teaching best, grandpère. Tell them to go and come back no more."
"I have engaged them for a month, ma pauvre petite. Thou must even bear with them for a month, mon ange, and then they shall go. But say not to them that they shall go!"
"Non, non, mon grandpère, not for the world," said Margot.
The month came to an end. Margot endured it because she began to teach the aged, ignorant governesses herself. She found the task quite agreeable and did not mind what the ladies felt; in fact, they were fascinated by her talk and found her pretty speeches and gay manners truly diverting. They were earning large sums of money and had nothing to do. They were not teaching, they were being taught.
At last the day came when the thunderbolt fell. Margot was sent up to her room. The two ladies arrived in a hurry together by special request of M. le Comte.
Madame looked at them with anxious eyes. "I did not know that you were quite so ignorant, Félicité," she said, "nor you, Thérèse. I have given mon mari l'argent to pay you both, but my poor friends, behold, you must come here no more!"
The astonished ladies were received by M. le Comte. He received them civilly but with a certain distance. He said he had other views for la petite. He paid them their month's money, which Madame had given him for the purpose, and they walked down the neatly kept avenue, burning rage in their hearts. Why had they made themselves so ugly for so poor a reward? Suddenly, as they were approaching Arles, hoping not to be recognised, whom should they see coming to meet them but several girls belonging to the school of la Princesse de Fleury! Amongst these girls was Louise Grognan. Most of the girls took no notice whatsoever of the faded-looking old ladies, but Louise recognised them. Quick as thought she made up her mind. She said a word to her companion, explained that she knew the chères demoiselles, and presently was walking by their sides.
"You keep the Cabinet de Beauté?" she said.
"We do and we have almost ruined ourselves for nothing," said M'selle Close. Tears crept between her eyelids.
"Tell me everything," said Louise, "and perhaps I can help."
"You! How can you possibly help?"
"Well, at least tell me; I will do my best."
So the old ladies described how they had to give up their profession. They could no longer use the masseuse on the hand nor the rouge on the cheeks. They could no longer direct as they used to do, the daily programme of their pupils. Everything was at an end because, forsooth, Madame la Comtesse St. Juste required the best part of the day for one of these ladies; turn about truly, ah, yes, turn about, to teach la petite Comtesse. But, behold, they could not teach. It was true, alas, more than true! They could give vast instructions as to massage and the brushing of the hair and the delicate touch of rouge on the cheeks but what did they know of German or of geography? The world for them consisted of la belle France. Was there another land? Ah, well, they did not know of it. Still la charmante petite Comtesse was all that was elegant and delightful, and she would beyond doubt have a very great dot some day, and she would marry according to the French custom into the high nobility. They found it tiresome to sit with the child and teach her nothing, but behold she taught them, and she knew, ah, ten times as much as they did! It was wonderful to listen to her. There were other countries—Angleterre, Irlande, a country called Germany, and lands many and wonderful across the deep, deep sea. It was like listening to a fairy tale to hear la petite talk, and they were getting a good salary. Ah, oui, très bien, n'est-ce pas! But behold, the old Comte, he was angry, and la petite Comtesse must have told him things. She looked true at heart, but she was not true at heart; and behold, undoubtedly, she had enlightened M. le Comte concerning them. They were sent away in disgrace. Their hearts were broken.
"Do you want your revenge?" asked Louise.
"Revenge, certainement, but could there be revenge?"
"I tell you there can," said Louise. "I failed, but you can succeed. You, Félicité Close, will receive me in your Cabinet de Beauté to-morrow, and behold, you will manicure my hands, and while so doing, I—I myself will enlighten you and you shall avenge yourselves upon the Comte."
"C'est bien, c'est bien," murmured M'selle Blanc.
"At two o'clock to-morrow I will arrive," said Louise. "Keep me not waiting, I beseech of you, M'selle Close and M'selle Blanc. I will teach you both how to avenge yourselves on M'sieur le Comte at the Château St. Juste."
Accordingly Louise returned home in the highest spirits, and wrote a letter of rapture to Tilly at Clapham Common.
"There is still of the hope," she wrote, "the hope that never dies. Keep up your spirits, Matilda Raynes. Most unexpectedly has the hope arisen. It fills the sky like the most beautiful sunset. Behold, it is golden and close at hand. I shall have earned my sixty francs, and thou wilt invite me to thy château of renown in the aristocratic quarter called Clapham Common. I will visit you in Angleterre, and in Clapham Common we shall clasp hands and meet heart to heart."
Certainly Madame la Princesse de Fleury kept her school with a sort of easy nonchalance, which was much appreciated by the girls. In especial, these girls liked their half-holidays, when they could wander about pretty much as they pleased. It is true that the boarders had to submit to a certain amount of restraint, but as quite half the school were day girls they had only to say that they were going home to visit their dear relations, absolutely to satisfy that very innocent lady la Princesse.
Now, Louise lived at Arles. Her father's restaurant was not far from the great school, and not far away again was the mansion where Louise slept each night, and at times, half-holidays and such like, enjoyed the pleasure of her friends' company. The day following that on which she met M'selle Close and M'selle Blanc was a half-holiday, and as her father supplied her freely with cash, she had whispered to one or two companions of a fete, ah, très ravissant, where certain of her dearest friends could join her and eat chocolats and cakes to their hearts' delight. But Louise did not dare to lose this most precious half-holiday. She accordingly announced to her friends, Marcella and Berthe, that they must put off their time of ravissement until the next half-holiday, for behold! consider! she, Louise, had work of the most particular to do. It was urgent, it was immediate—it had to come at once, at once.
The girls, of course, had to submit, and Louise, dressing herself as gracefully as she could, appeared at the Cabinet de Beauté at the hour named.
She was received at once by the two ladies, was shown into a private room, and while one manicured her finger-nails, and the other made of her hair an arrangement the most perfect, she told her story. She said what she required. She also declared that when the deed was done, ah, riche, très riche would be the reward.
"Mon père, he has much d'argent," said Louise. "He will pay well. Now listen, M'selle Blanc and M'selle Close. You went as gouvernantes to la petite Comtesse."
"Ah, oui, oui," said the ladies, "and badly, horribly were we treated. It was the doing of l'enfant; there is no doubt she is a snake in the grass."
"I would say she was a green lizard on the sunny wall," said Louise.
"Ah, make me not to shudder, M'selle Grognan."
"Now, I want to tell you about la petite Comtesse," continued Louise. "She is the daughter, it is true, of the late Comte Henri St. Juste, and her grandfather is the Comte St. Juste. She has, therefore, a right to her title of la petite Comtesse, but behold, do you think she keeps to that which we desire? Ah, non, non, far from that. Would you suppose that la petite sold me this chapeau?" for Louise was wearing the grass-green chapeau on purpose.
"Non, non," exclaimed both ladies. "It is perfect, assuredly, but la petite, she does not sell—to sell is to belong to us. We sell, thy father, M'selle, he sells; but la petite she belongs to the nobility. I hate them, pour moi, still they exist."
"Now will you listen, M'selle Blanc," exclaimed Louise. "It is true, what I tell you—it is true what I tell you both. M'selle has a grand'père, and also la belle grand'mère employs her in her magasin—kept it is supposed by Madame Marcelle, but really it flourishes because of the rare taste of la petite Comtesse Margot. She goes there daily for two hours a day, and behold! the chapeaux they vanish; the robes they disappear; the dainty ribbons and sashes and gloves, they are not; the embroidered stockings they are not; the shoes they are not; and all because of the taste of la petite. Think you that the établissement would flourish without la petite? Well, now, M. le Comte St. Juste, he knows nothing of this, but I want you both to enlighten him. I have my reasons which I need not disclose; will you both, chères M'selles, dress as the youngest do—ah, so beautifully; make the variety of the toilette, the change that pleases, that enchants? Wear a chapeau noir, M'selle Blanc, garnished with roses la reine; and you, M'selle Close, wear le petit chapeau avec une plume noire et sans roses. Oh, la, la, you will both look but eighteen; then go straight to see M'sieur the Comte St. Juste, wearing the touch of rouge—only the mere touch—and that tone of darkness under the eyes which gives the expression so nouvelle et si jeune. You will know what to do. Do not allude to the fact that you came as gouvernantes alternate days to the little snake in the grass and the little green lizard basking in the sun. Speak to him as strangers. Have you got any friends whose names you could assume for the purpose?"
The ladies knew many of the noblesse. They could, ah, oui, certainement, choose the names.
"Ah, well, go, my good friends, and fascinate the ancient Comte. He will admire, he will adore. He is susceptible to the charms of beauty. When you have won his confidence he will talk of your chapeau, M'selle Blanc, and yours, M'selle Close; and then you must raise the hands in rapture, and talk and talk and talk, and when you have roused his enthusiasm, you must tell him that these things were chosen and sold to you by one très jeune and très belle. Excite his interest; tell him that there never was one with quite such taste as that jeune petite. He will offer to go with you to see that young marvel, and behold! you will take him. You will go in my car, and you will take him with you into the town and into the établissement; and he will see la petite Comtesse; he will know for himself what his granddaughter does. The little green lizard will shine no longer in the sun; the little green snake in the grass must from henceforth conceal herself; and I, see! I will reward you both."
"How much?" asked M'selle Blanc, who felt considerably afraid of M. le Comte.
"I will ask mon père; I will tell him all. What do you say to being robed from head to foot by la petite Comtesse in the établissement Marcelle? Think what a joy that will be! Such a perfect reward. Then listen again—I know mothers and elder sisters of M'selles in my school; they shall come to you—oh! in numbers, to have their youth renewed. Is not that enough?"
M'selle Close and M'selle Blanc thought that the terms were sufficient and arranged to go on the following morning to visit M. le Comte. Meanwhile M'selle was to send them les chapeaux ravissants, admirable, which they were to wear for the occasion. They must look truly jeunes demoiselles.
"Now then, I must go, but I will send the chapeaux, rest assured."
Louise departed, and M'selle Blanc and M'selle Close consulted together how they were to turn themselves into jeunes demoiselles. They had, it is true, many patrons, and after consulting for a short time together, they decided to adopt the names of two young ladies who had come to the Cabinet de Beauté to have their hands manicured, and who belonged to the noblesse.
These young ladies, they were assured, were absent from home at present. They might with safety take their names. They were the daughters of the Marquis Odile. They had only lately taken a house at Arles, where they lived with their father and mother, and were called the Marquise Clotilde and the Marquise Rose.
"Ah," exclaimed M'selle Blanc, "that name will suit my chapeau noir, garnished with roses la reine."
The Marquise Clotilde would look very sweet indeed in her très petit chapeau.
The chapeaux arrived, all in good time. The ladies arranged themselves in fear and trembling; saw that they could appear with perfect ease as les jeunes demoiselles; and went to bed that night with hearts beating high with excitement. Ah, but the revenge was good, and the adventure of the whole thing was exciting.
They scarcely slept that night for thinking of their triumph. Early the next morning, by the explicit directions of Louise, they attired themselves in dresses of pure white with little sashes of blue. The ravishing hats were perched on their heads, the slight touch of rouge was delicately applied to each faded cheek, and then large veils were put on to cover any possible defects.
They were naturally slight in figure. Sharp at ten in the morning, at the very hour when Louise told them it would be right for them to go, they started on their mission to the Château St. Juste. Louise had sent one of her father's cars for them. This was to wait to bring them back again.
Madame la Comtesse was always out at that hour. She was in reality occupied in the back premises of the établissement; for Madame Marcelle was little better than a figurehead. The old Comte was alone. He felt well and happy—the day was a mild one. He thought he would enjoy the outside air. He would even go in the direction of the peach garden.
Suddenly, as he was approaching it, he raised his delicate old hand to protect his sunken, dark eyes, and to watch in surprise an automobile which was coming quickly down the avenue. He wanted to fly; but a check string was applied, the chauffeur stopped à l'instant, and two pretty girls approached—the Marquises Odile, connections of his. Ah, yes, assuredly. They introduced themselves, they talked, they chatted.
One Marquise, the Marquise Clotilde, insisted on his taking her arm; the Marquise Rose walked at his other side. He forgot his peach garden in the pleasure of talking to them. He called them très douce et très belle. He had not the faintest suspicion that they were the withered and ugly gouvernantes whom he had turned away with scorn a little while ago.
"Ah, but I must call on your esteemed father, Marquise Clotilde. He is younger than I am, alas, but I will call, certainement; and for you, ma belle Rose, let me see if I can give you something as ravishing out of my garden as those roses which you wear in your chapeau."
"Did you ever see a chapeau more très belle?" said the Marquise Rose.
"It is of the most perfect," said the old Comte.
"There is a wondrous lady who sells these things," said Marquise Clotilde. "She sells them at an établissement kept by a certain Madame Marcelle. We buy our things there. We have reconstructed ourselves since we came to Arles. The young m'selle, si jeune et si belle, does better for us than any of the Parisian magasins."
"I can scarcely believe that," said le Comte.
"Will you not come with us, M. le Comte, and see for yourself? Our car waits your orders. The air is of the spring, reviving with its mildness. Get in, M'sieur, get in. We will take you in a flash to the établissement, and you will see la belle petite with the taste so superb. Afterwards we will go and visit mon père."
The old Comte felt in a mood for adventure. These demoiselles were very charming, and he would like himself to see la petite who had the taste so rare and simple.
Accordingly he went as far as the house, leaning now on the arm of the Marquise Rose, but holding the hand of the Marquise Clotilde. He desired his valet to clothe him in his coat of fur and to place at his feet a hot bottle. The automobile was closed by his desire. Les jeunes demoiselles nearly fainted with the heat, but their task would soon be over; their revenge would be complete and their reward would be in their hands.
They chattered all the way with the gay prattle of young birds. The very old Comte thought how delightful was youth; he was glad, very glad, to meet his own relations.
At last they stopped at the établissement. The old Comte got out, and the les Marquises accompanied him—all seemed going well, of the best. The assistants bowed; the shopwalkers were ready to take these distinguished strangers to whatever department they pleased.
The Comte felt his cheeks flush with eagerness. This was really a very gay adventure. He liked gay adventures; but at that moment there was standing, just behind the Marquises and the Comte, la petite Comtesse. She had gone herself to fetch a certain lace for a certain customer. One glance served to pierce the disguise of the ugly gouvernantes; one glance told to her horror-stricken eyes that mon grandpère le Comte was in the établissement.
Quickly, like a flash, she entered that part of the magasin which was kept for underclothing, and with which she had nothing to do. From there she got into the back premises, where she beheld la belle grand'mère.
"Oh, hide me, hide me," cried little Margot; "I will tell thee what has occurred. Those gouvernantes so ignorant are in the établissement with grandpère. They are powdered and rouged and wearing our chapeaux—they are pretending the youth. Ah, but if he knows, if he sees, it will break his heart."
"Fret not thyself, ma petite," said la belle grand'mère. "Stay quietly with me. Thou wilt be asked for of necessity, but I will say that thou hast mal à la tête."
"But non, grand'mère," cried little Margot, "behold, it is not mal à la tête; it is sorrow at the heart."
"Well, that suffices, mon enfant."
The Comte, his cheeks growing pinker, his eyes brighter, accompanied by those charming demoiselles, the young Marquises, asked everywhere for la petite, la petite, the lady who had the taste so ravishing; but although many were waiting for her, there was no sign of la petite.
A message came at last to say that she was indisposed for that one morning and could not appear.
The ladies felt a keen and unaccountable sense of disappointment. The old Comte knew that the adventure was over, but he would occupy himself by buying a brooch of the very finest sapphires for his little Margot.
The Ladies Odile stood behind him. It was just at that moment that two very beautiful, dark young girls, accompanied by a stately gentleman in middle life, entered the établissement. The girls were tall; they were really very young; they had a glow of health, not rouge on their cheeks. The eldest called herself Rose, the other was Clotilde. Suddenly the father of these fair young girls made a graceful plunge forward. It was rapid, and only a Frenchman could do it without awkwardness.
He seized the hand of M. le Comte.
"Ah, behold, behold, mon ami," he said, "what joy is here. I came to get some pretty trifles for my daughters, Rose and Clotilde; but I will present them first to thee, mon ami. I have heard wonderful stories of this établissement. We are anxious to see the little wonder, as she is called. Ah, we see her not! Clotilde, make thy curtsey to M. le Comte St. Juste; Rose, do thou likewise."
"But—but——" said the astonished and amazed old Comte. "But—but——" mimicked the father of Rose and Clotilde. "I am the Marquis Odile. Thy cousin and thy friend, mon ami."
"I am bewildered," said the poor old Comte. "All day Rose and Clotilde have been with me. They brought me here; I thought them charmantes; but I see them not. What does all this mean?"
The trembling, terrified ladies who kept the Cabinet de Beauté knew only too well what it all meant. The real Marquis and the real Marquises had appeared in the flesh. As fast as their trembling legs could carry them, they reached the door. They got into the automobile and drove to the Cabinet de Beauté.
"We have had a terrible escape," murmured M'selle Blanc. "Never, never will I undertake such work again," said M'selle Close.
Tremblingly they got off their hats and appeared in their usual dress.
The Marquis brought the Comte back to his château in his own automobile. The young Marquises Rose and Clotilde made him lie down, and petted him and talked to him as though they were his daughters.
When la pauvre grand'mère entered, an hour or so later, she found her beloved one calm and easy in his mind. It was only after M. le Marquis and his beautiful young daughters had gone that he told her of his very great adventure.
"It was the biggest of all my life," he said. "Two ladies, très belles and très jeunes, appeared and introduced themselves as mes cousines, les Marquises Rose et Clotilde. Ah, but they were charmantes. Then behold, they spoke to me of a wonder, a très petite wonder in the établissement of Madame Marcelle. They asked me to go with them to see her, and I went."
"Ah, but thou naughty one; thou adorable naughty one," said la Comtesse.
"But behold, listen," continued the old man. "I enjoyed myself; they were so gay, so young, so brilliant in the cheeks, so dainty in the chapeaux. Then I arrived. They took me in their own car; but I could not see that petite wonder, who seems to rule the établissement; and suddenly, behold, the real Marquis Odile appeared with his beautiful daughters, Rose and Clotilde. Ah, but it was an adventure; it was wonderful. Thinkest thou, Madame beloved, that the others were—were spirits? I looked to right, I looked to left, and nowhere could I see them after the Marquis appeared. Thinkest thou they were spirits, Madame la Comtesse?"
"They were wicked women," said Madame. "They thought to take thee in, but they failed."
"Ah, but indeed they were not wicked," said M. le Comte. "They looked young and elegant. How gently did the one who called herself Clotilde support my feeble steps; and how admirable were the manners of the one called Rose. I will amuse myself well this afternoon in telling the story of this queer adventure to la petite Comtesse."
"Please thyself, mon Alphonse; but now lie quietly and rest, while I prepare the bouillon which will nourish thee after those adventures, which only ought to happen to the young."
The entire story was repeated to Margot when she appeared on the scene; but the old man seemed now dull and drowsy and stupid. Perhaps he was too old for adventures—he could not say. As the evening advanced, he talked in a puzzled way of two Marquises called Rose, and two Marquises called Clotilde, and of a "little wonder" in a certain établissement. He was decidedly feverish, and Margot held his hand and soothed him as only she knew how.
"Oh the wicked, wicked women," sobbed la belle grand'mère, after the doctor had come and gone. "The wicked, wicked women, to injure mon Alphonse."
When Margot had a minute of time to attend to la belle grand'mère, she told her that the false Marquises were only her hideous old gouvernantes dressed up to look young, and that she herself meant to give them a piece of her mind.
"I mean to spend the entire night with grandpère," she said. "Weep not, ma belle grand'mère. He got a shock, and only I can keep him from being puzzled by the two names—the two names twice over. I will go to him, ma belle grand'mère."
"Yes, go, my blessed child," said the little Madame; and she felt at that moment that even the dot for Margot, and her établissement, were as nothing compared to mon Alphonse—mon Alphonse the adorable, the love of her life.
In the morning, the old Comte St. Juste was less feverish, but nevertheless not himself. He had, as he complained, a confused feeling. The world was full of Roses—oh, the most charmantes—and of Clotildes equally divine. They were coming up the avenue in automobiles, they were entering the room, they were sitting with him, they were pouring into his ear the fact that his mission was not accomplished. He had gone to the établissement, but he had not seen the little wonder. He could not rest until he saw her. In vain Margot tried to soothe him. She longed beyond words to quiet his mind by telling him the simple truth—that she was la petite, she was the little wonder of the établissement Marcelle. But when she hinted at such a proceeding to la belle grand'mère, that poor woman gave a cry of bitter horror.
"Thou wilt kill mon Alphonse; thou wilt not be so cruel, thou canst not be so cruel."
"Ah, but I ought, I ought," sobbed Margot.
Madame la grand'mère consulted with the doctor.
"M. le docteur said that if anything was told at the present moment to excite the very old man, it would be his death; if Margot would not promise silence, she must keep out of the room."
"It will soothe him, ma belle grand'mère," cried little Margot.
Nevertheless la Comtesse kept the child from the sick man's room. One hour he grew better, another hour weaker, his strength kept fluctuating; then he began to watch the door.
"It will soon be time for la petite Comtesse to return; I want la petite," he said to his wife.
The distracted woman kept on telling him that she would soon appear; the Comte kept on listening; he fixed his sunken eyes on the clock.
"How soon will the time fly?" he cried impatiently; "how soon will la petite be in these arms?" Poor little Margot was upstairs, struggling with the great despair that had visited her. The dear old man—the dearest old man in all the world except The Desmond—why was she not with him?—how wicked of people to tell lies; she would never tell another. She resolved as soon as she returned to Desmondstown to tell The Desmond also the whole truth.
Toward evening the Comte's temperature went down; it went down to normal—below normal—far below. Madame was thankful, thinking the worst was over.
The old man dropped into a quiet sleep; he looked very aged in that sleep. The doctor came in. Madame exclaimed excitedly:
"Ah, Monsieur le docteur, I have news of the best. His temperature is——"
Then she suddenly stopped speaking—the doctor's face was very grave. He prepared a strong stimulant and forced the old man to swallow it in teaspoonfuls. Then he went into another room with Madame la Comtesse.
"What is the matter?" he said. "Has the child betrayed you?"
"Non, non," replied Madame. "I have put her upstairs, but he thinks she is still at school at Arles—learning, ever learning; dancing, ever dancing; making herself très jolie—ah, that is what he thinks, mon adored one."
"Listen, Madame," said the doctor. "Your husband is ill, very ill indeed. Keep the little one away if you can, but if not, let her go to him. It may be possible that the truth and the truth alone may save him even now. I will come back in two hours. Try to save him from shock, if possible; but behold! if it is necessary, fetch la petite Comtesse."
The doctor departed and Madame went back to her husband's bedside. He was talking in a rambling, feeble way, and kept looking first at the clock and then at the door.
"La petite, she does not arrive," he said suddenly. As suddenly a thought flashed through the mind of la Comtesse.
"She will not be here till late to-night, mon Alphonse," was her reply. "She has been asked to partake of tisane with her cousins, the Marquises Clotilde et Rose. She will have much to tell thee when she does enter thy room."
"Ah," said the poor old Comte feebly, "is she also one of those who overlook the old, the very aged, when they can hardly speak, hardly think? Time flies for us both—ah, ma petite Comtesse, mon ange, I may not be here if thou dost delay. I want her to tell me——"
"What, my unhappy one?" asked his wife.
"All about that wonderful petite who performs such extraordinary feats at the établissement which once was thine, my Ninon."
All of a sudden the heart of Ninon rose in a great wave. It seemed to struggle for utterance. She could scarcely contain herself.
"Harken, mon Alphonse," she said. "I will go myself and see whether the automobile has yet returned."
"Ah, do, my Ninon," replied the Comte. "Thou, at least, hast always been faithful and true—faithful, loving and true. I trust thee to the uttermost."
The poor woman staggered out of the room. She was met by little Margot, who was standing in the passage, and whose face was the colour of a white sheet. Her deep, dark eyes were full of untold misery.
"Belle grand'mère," she began—but grand'mère had no words to express her feelings. She pointed to the door where the sick man lay.
"Thou mayst save him. Thou hast my permission," she said in the lowest whisper; and little Margot with her gentle step entered the darkened room.
She knew at once that it was a trifle too hot. She opened wide one of the French windows; she let in the soft air, which, winter-time as it was in most places, felt like summer here. The old man breathed more easily. He turned on his pillow. He opened his eyes, so very sunken in his head, but they lit up with a joy beyond expression when he saw little Margot.
"Ah, I am weak, mon enfant," he said. "But thou hast come, ma petite. Put thy little hand on mine. There is life in thy little hand; lay it on mine. Ah, ma petite, how greatly do I love thee."
"And I thee, mon grandpère," cried Margot.
"Tell me," said the Comte, after a few minutes' silence, during which Margot had fed him with some of the doctor's restorative—"tell me what thou didst do at the établissement to-day. Didst thou buy a chapeau?—didst thou watch the little wonder as she sold chapeaux and robes for Madame Marcelle?"
"I was not there at all to-day, grandpère."
"Ah, ma petite, but wast thou there yesterday?"
"Mais oui," said Margot.
"And didst thou perchance see the little wonder?"
"I saw her; she is not a wonder."
"Ah, ma petite, be thou not of the jealous ones!" said the old man. "That would not be worthy of thee. Thou hast thy gifts; she has hers. Her chapeaux, they are perfect. Her taste, it is what I never saw before. Tell me about her, chérie."
"I will," said Margot, "if thou, mon grandpère, will let me put both of my hands round one of thine, and if thou wilt promise not to—not to turn me away afterwards."
"Turn thee away, best beloved, it couldn't be."
"Ah, but it might be," said little Margot. "There is a burden on thy mind; there is a—I call it not a fear, but it approaches in the direction of a fear. La petite who sells les chapeaux, les robes and all the other articles of refinement in the établissement, is thine own Margot. Dost thou hear me? I will not keep it back from thee any longer. La pauvre belle grand'mère thought that it was best for thee not to know, but there are cruel people in the world who tried to tell thee, but failed, so now I tell thee. The ladies who came here yesterday were of the cruel sort; the girl in the grass-green hat was of the cruel sort; but thy Margot—thy Margot—mon grandpère, art thou angry?"
"With thee? Mais non—non!" His face was whiter than ever; he could scarcely swallow. After a little he seemed to gather strength.
"Call thy belle grand'mère back to me, Margot," he said.
Margot fetched the poor woman. She came in, trembling from head to foot.
"I have told him; he had to know," whispered Margot.
The old man's eyes were bright now with some of the brightness of yore; his voice was firmer, too.
"Listen, Ninon," he said, "behold! Keep thy hand in mine, Margot, beloved. Ninon, I thought thou wert truthful, and I thought this child truthful, but she, la petite, has told me all the truth at last. I cannot appear before the Great Almighty with the sin of pride on my soul. Behold, now, we are all alike in Heaven; only make me one promise, Ninon. Never again shall this little one enter the établissement of Madame Marcelle, never except to buy."
"She shall not, mon Alphonse," said Ninon, falling at his side and burying her face in the counterpane and beginning to weep.
"Thy tears distress me," said the old man. "Behold la petite, she does not weep."
"I come of those who regard tears as not wise," said Margot; "but, behold! I promise thee, grandpère, I promise with all—all my heart. I will never again sell in the établissement Marcelle."
"Then see! how happy I am," said M. le Comte. "I am in the palace of truth. For a long time I lived in the palace of lies; gorgeous in colour was that palace and very beautiful to the senses, nevertheless it was the palace of lies. Now I breathe the healthy air of truth. Thou hast spoken, mon enfant; thou hast promised, ma Ninon; there is no pride left. For me, I also did wrong. The spirit of pride led me wrong."
"Then, grand'mère, we are all happy together," said Margot; "but see!—do not talk, he has fallen asleep."
The old Comte St. Juste had fallen asleep, and there was a lovely smile, something like that of an angel, on his face. The child and the woman watched him. The doctor came in presently and shook his head. He deliberately took a seat in the room and partly closed the window which Margot had opened.
"The restorative, M. le docteur," cried poor Madame.
"He could not swallow now," said the doctor, "but I will stay; yes, I will stay to the end."
The end came in the early hours of the morning. The old Comte slipped silently, softly and painlessly out of this life into a better one; and poor belle grand'mère cried as though her heart would break, but Margot did not cry. She made wreaths of violets, out of their own garden, to surround him. She was never idle for a moment. She put in his hands the Rose of France.
He had lost the look of age; he had slipped back twenty, even thirty years; but for his white hair, he did not look so very old.
"It is because the angels have kissed him," said little Margot.
Madame wept nearly the whole of the day; but Margot kept quiet, thoughtful, busy. She had much to do for la belle grand'mère.
Toward evening the tired woman lay down and slept; and little Margot sat in the room with her dead grandfather, where the great wax candles were lighted—seven at the head of the bed, and seven at the feet. The room was full of the scent of violets.
"If that is death, I should like to go, too, some day," thought little Margot.
All in a moment, she observed the sweet smile on the lips of the dead man, and there came a lump in her throat. Had she not remembered that she was a Desmond she might have cried; but being a Desmond she kept back her tears.
The servants sat in the passage outside. They were surprised that Margot should like to be alone with the dead; but Margot was without fear because she loved so dearly.
"I am glad I told him," she said once or twice to herself; and then she thought of The Desmond and resolved that she would tell him, too, for lies were not of the Kingdom of God, and she wanted to belong to that kingdom and to that alone. What did a dot matter?—what did riches matter? "Pauvre belle grand'mère," thought the little girl. "I will always uphold her and strengthen her and help her in my little, poor way; but she shall not spend her money on me."
After the funeral the will was read.
Fergus Desmond and Uncle Jacko came over for the service and the after ceremony. Margot was quietly told of the extent of the funds which would be at her disposal when she came of age, or before that if she married. They were her French grandfather's present to his beloved grandchild.
Poor la belle grand'mère looked with anguish at Margot. Margot took her hand.
"I must speak the truth, and now," she said. "Mon grandpère was rich only because of this most dear lady; and I will not take the money, no, not a penny of it. She earned it for him, for him!"
"You cannot refuse," said the notary. "See, there was a deed of gift made to you. The dead would walk if you did refuse;" but Margot said gently and firmly that she did not believe in that sort of thing, for chère grandpère was in the heavenly garden with God, and that anyhow she now meant to make a deed of gift.
All those present turned and stared at her.
"Behold!" she cried. "The dot was arranged for me, who care not for money at all. I give back every farthing of it to la belle grand'mère; and I will come and see her once at least every year; and I love her, for she has a true, brave heart; but now I must go back to The Desmond, for I hear his voice calling me across the waters."
All in vain did la belle grand'mère implore of little Margot not to make the deed of gift for her; to forget her—not to think of her at all; but Margot could never forget, and would never take the money.
In the end her wishes were carried out, and la belle grand'mère returned to the établissement at Arles. The Château St. Juste was shut up for the present, but once every year it was to be opened and filled with servants, and little Margot was to spend a month there with la belle grand'mère. For although she had given up the dot, she could not by any manner of means dispose of the Château St. Juste, which was her direct property, coming to her through her own father and grandfather.
On their way back to Desmondstown, Margot told Uncle Fergus that she meant to tell The Desmond everything.
"He will be shocked," returned Fergus Desmond.
"No," replied Margot, "the truth told as I shall tell it can never shock anyone. I will not allow him to think me what I am not. Uncle Fergus, I thought you were too great to permit it."
"I have not your strength of character, my child," said The Desmond of the future.
As little Margot had come back to Desmondstown now to live, as it was to be her home in the future, with the exception of the one month which she would spend with la belle grand'mère, and as mon grandpère was dead, her return was quiet and without that sense of rejoicing which stimulated it on her last return. There were no bonfires; there were no excited, screaming peasants; but Phinias Maloney was there with his little old cart, and the baby had grown so big that his mother thought that she might bring him out just for the bit colleen to kiss him. They drove quietly up to the rickety old house.
The girls were standing in the hall, all three of them dressed as young and as little like their age as ever. They all came forward to greet her, but Auntie Norah cried out:
"Whyever aren't ye in black, pushkeen?"
"Why should I be in black?" replied Margot.
"Because, for sure, isn't your French grandfather killed entirely?"
"My French grandfather is in heaven, and very—very happy," said Margot. "He is with God, the dear God who loves us all, and I am not going to wear black for him, for if he could speak to me now he wouldn't like it. I loved him most dearly; I shall always love his memory, but now I want The Desmond and Madam."
"Then whip into the room," said Bridget. "Why, to say the least of it, you know your way about, pushkeen."
"Yes," said Margot. She could not help giving a happy little laugh; she could not help feeling a great load rolling off her heart. This was her real home, her beloved home, her home of all homes. There were no people like the Irish; there was no one in the world like The Desmond.
She was wearing a little dress of thick, white serge, coat and skirt to match, and a piece of white fox fur round her neck; her little cap was also of white and was pushed back off her dark hair. Her cheeks were blooming with roses. The Desmond had felt a momentary fear at the thought of meeting his little granddaughter, but when he saw her with her rosy cheeks and brilliant dark eyes and white apparel, he gave a sigh of rapture.
"Eh, eh, but it is joyful to behold ye, my pushkeen," he cried, and then they were clasped in each other's arms.
Madam went out, as was her custom, to prepare supper for the little pushkeen; and this was Margot's opportunity to tell her proud old grandfather what had occurred.
She told him all from beginning to end; her great dark eyes were fixed on his face; his eyes, nearly as dark, regarded her gravely. She did not leave out a single point. She explained the entire secret, the miserable little secret which had turned her into a shopgirl, all for such a wretched thing as a dot.
Certainly The Desmond was very grave at first—the colour mounted to his cheeks and he clenched one of his great strong hands; but when Margot went on to describe mon grandpère's death, and then the arrangement which had been finally decided on after the funeral, by which Margot gave up her dot, returning it absolutely to la belle grand'mère and only keeping the old Château for herself—which she could not give away, for she inherited it from her father and her grandfather—then the old man changed his attitude.
He burst into a loud guffaw. He rose to his immense height and folded the pushkeen in his arms, and cried:
"Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah! Old Ireland forever! The Desmonds forever! Their pluck, their spirit to the world's end!"
Madam, hearing a loud noise, came hastily in, and The Desmond told her to calm herself and to look upon the pushkeen as a gem of the purest water.
"She has been telling me things that set me up," was his remark; "they set me up fine, but they are to go no further. Quit any curious ways, my woman; get my pushkeen her supper. Old Ireland forever! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!"
So little Margot sat on her grandfather's knee and ate the excellent food provided for her by dear, sweet, dainty little Madam, and then, being really very tired, she dropped asleep, with her head leaning on The Desmond's breast, and her dark hair pressed against his white beard.
"Eh, but she's the wonder," said The Desmond; "and I won't have her woke, that I won't, if she lies here all night long. She's mine forever and ever now. Thank the Lord God Almighty and His blessed Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit and the angels and the archangels and all the hosts of heaven, for their mercies! I've got her and she's mine! My pushkeen, my mavourneen, my blessed brave little lamb. I tell you, Mary, she's a heroine. She's better than the best—what more can an old man say?"
Margot did awake in time to go up to her own snug little bedroom, to slip into her own cosy bed, and to sleep the sound sleep of the weary. But before he went to bed himself that night, The Desmond had a talk with Fergus.
"We've got her back, Fergus boy," he said. "She's ours now forever."
"Yes, that's true enough, forever."
"She has let out something to me," said The Desmond, "which I can't repeat and won't for the life of me."
"Don't then, father," said Fergus.
"But she's a heroine," said The Desmond.
"I always reckoned she was born that way," said Fergus.
"I'm not going to tell you her bit of a secret, my man."
"I say, father, I'm not wanting to hear it."
"But you and me, Fergus, we must provide for her. We must settle a bit of a dower on her."
"I'm thinking that way myself," said Fergus.
"We'll talk it over to-morrow," said The Desmond.
"We will, father," said Fergus. "We'll do something fine for the pushkeen; she's worth it."
"Worth it!" cried The Desmond. "There never was her like before in the world. Good-night, Fergus. You are my heir, remember, and you'll be The Desmond after me. But listen here and now—old men die off quick sometimes, and if anything happens to me she's your charge."
"Of course, father; can you doubt it?"
"That's all right. I'm going to bed," said The Desmond. He slowly left the room. There was a great rejoicing in his heart; he saw real, true goodness when it was brought before him. The little pushkeen should not suffer for her confidence in him. He had loved her before; now his love filled his heart to the very brim.
Fergus sat for some time by the turf fire in his father's sitting-room and laughed quietly and softly to himself at the way the little pushkeen had managed The Desmond, who imagined he was the only one of all the family of Desmonds who knew the true story of the établissement at Arles.
"I never saw the old fellow so took up with anything," thought Fergus to himself. "The girls and Bruce and Malachi must never know, and of course I'll pretend never to know. It's all right—better than right—brave little pushkeen."