CHAPTER V.
IN THE RUE VERTE.
"The city looked sad. The heaven was gray."
SONGS IN MINOR KEYS.
"Gladdie, are you awake?"
These were the first words that fell on Gladys's ears the next morning.I cannot say the first _sounds_, for all sorts of strange and puzzlingnoises had been going on above and below and on all sides since _ever_so early, as it seemed to her--in reality it had been half-past six--shehad opened her eyes in the dark, and wondered and wondered where shewas! Still in the railway carriage was her first idea, or on thesteamer--once she had awakened enough to remember that she was _not_ inher own little bed at Mrs. Lacy's. But no--people weren't undressed inthe railway, even though they did sometimes lie down, and then--thoughthe sounds she heard were very queer--she soon felt she was not moving.And bit by bit it all came back to her--about the long tiring journey,and no Papa at the station, and Mr. and Mrs. Marton and Leonie alltalking together, and the drive in the cab to the crowded narrow street,and the funny old woman with the frilled cap, and the shop full ofchairs and sofas, and the queer unnatural long afternoon after theirfriends went away, and how glad at last she and Roger were to go to bedeven in the little stuffy dark room. _How_ dark it was! It must still bethe middle of the night, Gladys thought for some time, only thateverybody except herself and Roger seemed to be awake and bustlingabout. For the workroom, as Gladys found out afterwards, was overhead,and the workpeople came early and were not particular about making anoise. It was very dull, and in spite of all the little girl's courage,a few tears _would_ make their way up to her eyes, though she tried herbest to force them back, and she lay there perfectly quiet, afraid ofwaking Roger, for she was glad to hear by his soft breathing that he wasstill fast asleep. But she could not help being glad when through thedarkness came the sound of his voice.
"Gladdie, are you awake?"
"Yes, dear," she replied, "I've been awake a long time."
"So have I," said Roger in all sincerity--he had been awake about threeminutes. "It's very dark; is it the middle of the night?"
"No, I don't think so," Gladys replied. "I hear people making a lot ofnoise."
"Gladdie," resumed Roger half timidly--Gladys knew what was coming--"mayI get into your bed?"
"It's _very_ small," said Gladys, which was true, though even if it hadnot been so, she would probably have tried to get out of Roger'sproposal, for she was not half so fond of his early morning visits as hewas. In the days of old "nurse" such doings were not allowed, but aftershe left, Gladys had not the heart to be very strict with Roger, and nowin spite of her faint objection, she knew quite well she would have togive in, in the end.
"So's mine," observed Roger, though Gladys could not see what that hadto do with it. But she said nothing, and for about half a minute therewas silence in the dark little room. Then again.
"Gladdie," came from the corner, "mayn't I come? If we squeezedourselves?"
"Very well," said Gladys, with a little sigh made up of many differentfeelings. "You can come and try."
But a new difficulty arose.
"I can't find my way in the dark. I don't 'amember how the room is inthe light," said Roger dolefully. "When I first waked I _couldn't_ thinkwhere we were. Can't you come for me, Gladdie?"
"How can I find my way if you can't," Gladys was on the point ofreplying, but she checked herself! She felt as if she could not speakthe least sharply to her little brother, for he had nobody but her totake care of him, and try to make him happy. So she clambered out of herbed, starting with the surprise of the cold floor, which had no carpet,and trying to remember the chairs and things that stood in the way,managed to get across the room to the opposite corner where stoodRoger's bed, without any very bad knocks or bumps.
"I'm here," cried Roger, as if that was a piece of news, "I'm standingup in my bed jigging up and down. Can you find me, Gladdie?"
"I'm feeling for you," Gladys replied. "Yes, here's the edge of yourcot. I would have found you quicker if you had kept lying down."
"Oh, then, I'll lie down again," said Roger, but a cry from Gladysstopped him.
"No, no, don't," she said. "I've found you now. Yes, here's your hand.Now hold mine tight, and see if you can get over the edge. That's right.Now come very slowly, round by the wall is best. Here's my bed. Climbin and make yourself as little as ever you can. I'm coming. Oh, Roger,what a squeeze it is!"
"I think it's littler than my bed," said Roger consolingly.
"It's not any bigger anyway," replied Gladys, "we might just as wellhave stayed in yours."
"Is it because they're poor that the beds is so _very_ little?" askedRoger in a low voice.
"Oh, no, I don't think so," said Gladys gravely. "They've very nicebeds; I think they're almost quite new."
"Mine was very comfitable," said Roger. "Do you think all poor childrenshave as nice beds?"
"I'm afraid not," said Gladys solemnly. "I'm _afraid_ that some haven'tany beds at all. But why do you keep talking about poor children,Roger?"
"I wanted to know about them 'cos, you see, Gladys, if Papa wasn't neverfinded and we had to stay here, _we'd_ be poor."
"Nonsense," said Gladys rather sharply, in spite of her resolutions, "it_couldn't_ be like that; of course Papa will come in a few days,and--and, even if he didn't, though that's quite nonsense, you know,I'm only saying it to make you see, _even_ if he didn't, we'd not stayhere."
"Where would we go?" said Roger practically.
"Oh, back to Mrs. Lacy perhaps. I wouldn't mind if Miss Susan wasmarried."
"_I_ would rather go to India with _them_," said Roger. Gladys knew whomhe meant.
"But we can't, they've gone," she replied.
"Are they _gone_, and Leonie, that nice nurse--are they _gone_?" saidRoger, appalled.
"Yes, of course. They'll be nearly at India by now, I daresay."
Roger began to cry.
"Why, you _knew_ they were gone. Why do you cry about it now--you didn'tcry yesterday?" said Gladys, a little sharply it must be confessed.
"I thought," sobbed Roger, "I thought they'd gone to look for Papa, andthat they'd come to take us a nice walk every day, and--and----" He didnot very well know _what_ he had thought, but he had certainly not takenin that it was good-bye for good to the new friends he had alreadybecome fond of. "I'm _sure_ you said they were gone to look for Papa,"he repeated, rather crossly in his turn.
"Well, dear," Gladys explained, her heart smiting her, "they _have_gone to look for Papa. They thought they'd find him at the big town atthe side of the sea where the ships go to India from, and then they'dtell him where we were in Paris, and he'd come quick for us."
"Is this Paris?" asked Roger.
"Yes, of course," replied Gladys.
"I don't like it," continued the little boy. "Do you, Gladys?"
"It isn't like what I thought," said Gladys; "nothing's like what Ithought. I don't think when we go home again, Roger, that I'll ever playat pretend games any more."
"How do you mean when we go home?" said Roger. "Where's home?"
"Oh, I don't know; I said it without thinking. Roger----"
"What?" said Roger.
"Are you hungry?" asked Gladys.
"A little; are you?"
"Yes, I think I am, a little," replied Gladys. "I couldn't eat all thatmeat and stuff they gave us last night. I wanted our tea."
"And bread and butter," suggested Roger.
"Yes; at home I didn't like bread and butter much, but I think I wouldnow. I daresay they'd give it us if I knew what it was called in theirtalking," said Gladys.
"It wouldn't be so bad if we knew their talking," sighed Roger.
"It wouldn't be so bad if it would get light," said his sister. "I don'tknow what to do, Roger. It's _hours_ since they've all been up, andnobody's come to us. I wonder if they've forgotten we're here."
"There's a little tiny, weeny _inch_ of light beginning to come overthere. Is that the window?" said Roger.
br /> "I suppose so. As soon as it gets more light I'll get up and look ifthere's a bell," decided Gladys.
"And if there is?"
"I'll ring it, of course."
"But what would Miss---- Oh, Gladys," he burst out with a merry laugh,the first Gladys had heard from him since the journey. "Isn't I silly? Iwas just going to say, 'What would Miss Susan say?' I quite forgot. I'mnot sorry _she's_ not here. Are you, Gladdie?"
"I don't know," the little girl answered. Truth to tell, there weretimes when she would have been very thankful to see Miss Susan, eventhough she was determined not to ask to go back to England till allhope was gone. "I'm not----" but what she was going to say remainedunfinished. The door opened at last, and the frilled cap, looking soexactly the same as yesterday that Gladys wondered if Madame Nestorslept in it, only if so, how did she keep it from getting crushed,appeared by the light of a candle surrounding the kindly face.
"_Bon jour_, my children," she said.
"_That_ means 'good-morning,'" whispered Gladys, "I know that. Say it,Roger."
Why Roger was to "say it" and not herself I cannot tell. Someunintelligible sound came from Roger's lips, for which Gladys hastenedto apologise.
"He's trying to say 'good-morning' in French," she explained, completelyforgetting that poor Madame Nestor could not understand her.
"Ah, my little dears," said the old woman--in her own language ofcourse--"I wish I could know what you say. Ah, how sweet they are! Bothtogether in one bed, like two little birds in a nest. And have you sleptwell, my darlings? and are you hungry?"
The children stared at each other, and at their old hostess.
"Alas," she repeated, "they do not understand. But they will soon knowwhat I mean when they see the nice bowls of hot chocolate."
"Chocolate!" exclaimed both children. At last there was a word theycould understand. Madame Nestor was quite overcome with delight.
"Yes, my angels, chocolate," she repeated, nodding her head. "The littleservant is bringing it. But it was not she that made it. Oh, no! It wasmyself who took care it should be good. But you must have some light,"and she went to the window, which had a curtain drawn before it, andoutside heavy old-fashioned wooden shutters. No wonder in November thatbut little light came through. It was rather a marvel that at eighto'clock in the morning even a "tiny weeny _inch_" had begun to make itsway.
With some difficulty the old woman removed all the obstructions, andthen such poor light as there was came creeping in. But first shecovered the two children up warmly, so that the cold air when the windowwas opened should not get to them.
She placed the whole on a little table which she drewclose to the bed.]
"Would not do for them to catch cold, that would be a pretty story," shemuttered to herself, for she had a funny habit of talking away abouteverything she did. Then, when all was air-tight again, there came aknock at the door. Madame Nestor opened it, and took from the hands ofan invisible person a little tray with two steaming bowls of the famouschocolate and two sturdy hunches of very "hole-y" looking bread. Nobutter; that did not come within Madame Nestor's ideas. She placed thewhole on a little table which she drew close to the bed, and thenwrapping a shawl round the children, she told them to take theirbreakfast. They did not, of course, understand her words, but when shegave Roger his bowl and a preliminary hunch of bread into his hands,they could not but see that they were expected to take their breakfastin bed.
"But we're not ill," exclaimed Gladys; "we never stay in bed tobreakfast except when we're ill."
Madame Nestor smiled and nodded. She had not a notion what Gladys meant,and on her side she quite forgot that the children could not understandher any better than she understood them.
"We never stay in bed to breakfast unless we're _ill_," repeated Gladysmore loudly, as if that would help Madame Nestor to know what she meant.
"Never mind, Gladdie--the chocolate's very good," said Roger.
As before, "chocolate" was the only word Madame Nestor caught.
"Yes, take your chocolate," she repeated; "don't let it get cold," andshe lifted Gladys's bowl to give it to her.
"Stupid old thing," murmured Gladys, "why doesn't she understand? Ishould like to throw the chocolate in her face."
"Oh, Gladdie," said Roger reproachfully, "_think_ what a mess it wouldmake on the clean sheets!"
"I was only in fun--you might know that," said Gladys, all the same alittle ashamed of herself.
Madame Nestor had by this time left the room with a great manyincomprehensible words, but very comprehensible smiles and nods.
"I think breakfast in bed's very good," said Roger. Then came a sadderexclamation. "They've given me a pudding spoon 'stead of a teaspoon.It's _so_ big--it won't hardly go into my mouth."
"And me too," said Gladys. "How stupid French people are! We'll have todrink it out of the bowls, Roger. How funny it is not to have tea-cups!"
"_I_ think it's best to take it like soup," said Roger; "you don't needto put the spoon so much in your mouth if you think it's soup."
"I don't see what difference that makes," returned Gladys. But anyhowthe chocolate and the bread disappeared, and then the children began towonder how soon they might get up. Breakfast in bed wasn't so bad aslong as there was the breakfast to eat, but when it was finished andthere was no other amusement at hand they began to find it verytiresome. They had not so very long to wait, however, before MadameNestor again made her appearance.
"Mayn't we get up?" cried both children, springing up in bed and jumpingabout, to show how ready they were. The old lady seemed to understandthis time, but first she stood still for a moment or two with her headon one side admiring them.
"The little angels!" she said to herself. "How charming they are. Comenow, my darlings, and get quickly dressed. It is cold this morning," andshe took Roger in her arms to lift him down, while Gladys clambered outby herself. Their clothes were neatly placed in two little heaps on thetop of the chest of drawers, which, besides the two beds and two orthree chairs, was the only furniture in the room. Madame Nestor sat downon one of the chairs with Roger on her knee and began drawing on hisstockings.
"Well done," she said, when one was safely in its place; "who would havethought I was still so clever a nurse!" and she surveyed the stockingedleg with much satisfaction. Roger seemed quite of her opinion, andstuck out the other set of pink toes with much amiability. He greatlyapproved of this mode of being dressed. Miss Susan had told Ellen he wasbig enough, at five years old, to put on his stockings himself, and shehad also been very strict about sundry other nursery regulations, towhich the young gentleman, in cold weather especially, was by no meanspartial. But he was not to get off as easily as he hoped. His silence,which with him always meant content, caught Gladys's attention, whichtill now had been taken up with her own stockings, as she had aparticular way of her own of arranging them before putting them on.
"Roger," she exclaimed when she turned round and saw him established onMadame Nestor's motherly lap; "what are you thinking of? You haven't hadyour bath."
Roger's face grew red, and the expression of satisfaction fled.
"Need I----?" he was beginning meekly, but Gladys interrupted himindignantly:
"You dirty little boy," she said. "What would Miss Susan say?" at whichRoger began to cry, and poor Madame Nestor looked completely puzzled.
"We didn't have a bath last night, you know, because in winter MissSusan thinks once a day is enough. But I did think we should have hadone, after the journey too. And anyway this morning we _must_ have one."
But Madame Nestor only continued to stare.
"What shall I say? How _can_ I make her understand?" said Gladys indespair. "Where's the little basin we washed our faces and hands inyesterday, Roger?" she went on, looking round the room. "Oh, Iforgot--it was downstairs. There's _no_ basin in this room! What dirtypeople!" then noticing the puzzled look on Madame Nestor's face, shegrew frightened that perhaps she was vexed. "Perhaps she knows what'dirty' means," s
he half whispered to herself. "Oh dear, I don't mean tobe rude, ma'am," she went on, "but I suppose you don't know aboutchildren. How _can_ I explain?"
A brilliant idea struck her. In a corner of the room lay the carpet-bagin which Miss Susan had packed their nightgowns and slippers, and suchthings as they would require at once. There were, too, their sponges;and, as Miss Susan had been careful to point out, a piece of _soap_,"which you never find in French hotels," she had explained to Gladys.The little girl dived into the bag and drew out the sponges and soap intriumph.
"See, see," she exclaimed, darting back again to the old lady, andflourishing her treasure-trove, "that's what I mean! We must have a_bath_," raising her voice as she went on; "we must be washed and_sponged_;" and suiting the action to the word she proceeded to pat andrub Roger with the dry sponge, glancing up at Madame Nestor to see ifthe pantomime was understood.
"Ah, yes, to be sure," Madame Nestor exclaimed, her face lighting up, "Iunderstand now, my little lady. All in good time--you shall have waterto wash your face and hands as soon as you are dressed. But let me getthis poor little man's things on quickly. It is cold this morning."
She began to take off Roger's nightgown and to draw on his littleflannel vest, to which _he_ would have made no objection, but Gladys gotscarlet with vexation.
"No, no," she cried, "he must be washed _first_. If you haven't got abath, you might anyway let us have a basin and some water. Roger, you_are_ a dirty boy. You might join me, and then perhaps she'd do it."
Thus adjured, Roger rose to the occasion. He slipped off Madame Nestor'sknee, and stepping out of his nightgown began an imaginary sponging ofhis small person. But it was cold work, and Madame Nestor seeing himbegin to shiver grew really uneasy, and again tried to get him into hisflannels.
"No, no," said Roger, in his turn--he had left off crying now--even thecold wasn't so bad as Gladdie calling him a dirty boy. Besides who couldtell whether, somehow or other, Miss Susan might not come to hear of it?Gladys might write her a letter. "No, no," repeated Roger valorously,"we must be washed _first_."
"You too," said Madame Nestor in despair; "ah, what children!" But hergood-humour did not desert her. Vaguely understanding what theymeant--for recollections began to come back to her mind of what Leonie'smother used to tell her of the manners and customs of _her_nurseries--she got up, and smiling still, though with some reproach, ather queer little guests, she drew a blanket from the bed and wrapped itround them, and then opening the door she called downstairs to thelittle servant to bring a basin and towel and hot water. But the littleservant did not understand, so after all the poor old lady had to trotdownstairs again herself.
"My old legs will have exercise enough," she said to herself, "if thePapa does not come soon. However!"
"I'm sure she's angry," whispered Roger to Gladys inside the blanket,"we needn't have a bath _every_ day, Gladdie."
"Hush," said Gladys sternly. "I'm _not_ going to let you learn to be adirty boy. If we can't have a bath we may at least be _washed_."
"But if Papa's coming for us to-day or to-morrow," Roger said, "the newnurse could wash us. I don't believe Papa's coming for us," he went onas if he were going to cry again. "I believe we're going to stay here inthis nugly little house _always_--and it's all a trick. I don't believewe've got any Papa."
Poor Gladys did not know what to say. Her own spirits were going downagain, for she too was afraid that perhaps Madame Nestor was vexed, andshe began to wonder if perhaps it would have been better to let thingsalone for a day or two--"If I was sure that Papa would come in a day ortwo," she thought! But she felt sure of nothing now--everything hadturned out so altogether differently from what she had expected that hercourage was flagging, and she too, for the first time since theirtroubles had begun, followed Roger's example and burst into tears.