CHAPTER VIII.
A FALL DOWNSTAIRS.
"Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?"
GOODY BLAKE.
Some days passed; they were much the same as the first, except that thechildren--children-like--grew used to a certain extent to the things andpeople and manners and ways of the life in which they found themselves.Roger now and then seemed pretty contented, almost as if he wereforgetting the strange changes that had come over them; so long as everyone was kind to him, and he had Gladys at hand ready, so far as waspossible for her, to attend to his slightest wish, he did not seemunhappy. But on the other hand, the least cross word, or one ofMademoiselle Anna's sharp looks, or even the want of things that heliked to eat, would set him off crying in a way he had never donebefore, and which nearly broke Gladys's heart. For she, though sheseemed quiet and contented enough, was in reality very anxious anddistressed. She was of an age to understand that something reallyserious must be the matter for her and Roger to be left with strangersin this way--no letters coming, no inquiries of any kind being made,just as if she and her little brother were forgotten by all the world!She could write a little, and once or twice she said to herself that ifit went on very long she would try to send a letter to Miss Susan; butthen again, when she remembered how glad that young lady had been to getrid of them, how she had disliked the idea of their staying with Mrs.Lacy after her marriage--for all this by scraps of conversation, remarksof servants, and so on, Gladys had been quick enough to find out--shefelt as if she would rather do anything, stay anywhere, rather than askMiss Susan to take them back. And then from time to time hope would risestrong in her, and she would wake in the morning firmly convinced that"Papa would come to-day"--hopes, alas, only to be disappointed! She wasbeginning to understand a little of what was said by those about them.Madame Nestor was as kind as ever, and her son, who had taken a greatfancy to Roger, was decidedly kinder than he had been at first. Withthem alone Gladys felt she would not have minded anything so much; butshe could see that Anna's dislike to them increased, and the childdreaded the hours of the meals, from the feeling of the hard scornfullooks that Anna was then sure to cast on her.
One day she overheard some talking between her and Madame Nestor. Theyoung woman seemed angry, and the old one was remonstrating with her.Gladys heard that they were speaking about money, and also about someone going away, but that was all she could make out, though they weretalking quite loud, and did not seem to mind her being there.
"If only Anna was going away," thought Gladys, "I wouldn't mindanything. I wouldn't mind the not having baths, or tea, or bread andbutter, or--or all the things we had at home, if only there was nobodyto look so fierce at us. I'd almost rather be Madame Nestor's littleservant, like Francoise, if only Anna would go away."
It almost seemed as if her wishes had been overheard by some fairy, forthe next morning, when they were called to the second breakfast--whichthe children counted their dinner--Anna's place was empty! Gladyssqueezed Roger's hand under the table, and whispered to him: "She'sgone, I do believe she's gone." Then looking up at Madame Nestor she sawher kind old face looking decidedly jollier than usual.
"Yes," she said, nodding her head; "Anna is away. She has gone away fora few days."
Gladys understood her partly but not altogether, but she did not mind.She was only too pleased to find it true, and that was the happiest daythey had since they came to the Rue Verte. Madame Nestor sent out to thepastry-cook's near by for some nice little cakes of a kind the childrenhad never tasted before, and which they found delicious, and MonsieurAdolphe said he would get them some roasted chestnuts to eat if theyliked them. He found the words in a dictionary which he showed Gladyswith great pride, and pointed them out to her, and was quite delightedwhen she told him how to pronounce them, and added: "I like roastchestnuts _very_ much."
"Mademoiselle shall give me some lessons of English," he said to hismother, his round face beaming with pleasure. "You are quite right, theyare little gentlepeople, there is no doubt of it; and I feel sure thePapa will come to fetch them in a few days. He will be very grateful tous for having taken such care of them--it may be a good thing in the endeven from a business point of view, for I should have no objection toextend our English connection."
No thought of gain to themselves in any way had entered Madame Nestor'shead; but she was too pleased to see her son in such a good humour aboutthe children to say anything to disagree with him.
"He has a good heart, my Adolphe," she said to herself. "It is only Annathat makes him seem what he is not; if she would but stay awayaltogether! And yet, it would be difficult to find her equal in otherways."
"Speaking of English," she said aloud, "reminds me that those Englishladies will be getting impatient for their curtains. And the trimminghas not yet come; how slow those makers are! It is a fortnight sincethey promised it for the end of the week."
"It does not matter much," said Adolphe, "for no one can make them upproperly except Anna. She should not have gone away just now; she knowsthere are several things that require her."
"That is true," said Madame Nestor, and so it was. Mademoiselle Annaseemed purposely to have chosen a most inconvenient time for going offon a visit to her family, and when Madame Nestor reproached her for thisshe had replied that with all the money the Nestors had received for thetwo little strangers, they could well afford to engage for the time afirst-rate workwoman to replace her. This was the conversation Gladyshad heard and a little understood. Poor Madame Nestor, wishing to keepup the children's dignity, had told every one that Mr. Marton had lefther plenty of money for them, making the most of the two or three poundswhich was all he had been able to spare, and of which she had not as yettouched a farthing.
But whether Anna's absence was inconvenient or not, it was very pleasantto most people concerned. Adolphe himself took the children out a walk,and though Gladys was at first not quite sure that it was not a littlebeneath her dignity to let the young man be her "chaperon," she ended byenjoying it very much. Thanks to his broken English and the few Frenchwords she was now beginning to understand, they got on very well; andwhen he had taken them some way out of Paris--or out of the centre ofthe town rather--in an omnibus, she was obliged to own that it was by nomeans the gray, grim, crowded, noisy, stuffy place it had seemed to herthose first days in the Rue Verte. Poor little Roger was delighted! Thecarriages and horses were to him the most beautiful sight the worldcould show; and as they walked home down the Champs Elysees it was quitedifficult to get him along, he wanted so constantly to stand still andstare about him.
"How glad I am we had on our best things!" said Gladys, as she hung upher dark-blue braided serge jacket and dress--for long ago Madame Nestorhad been obliged to open the big trunk to get out a change of attire forthe children--"aren't you, Roger?" She smoothed dawn the scarlet breaston her little black felt hat as she spoke. "This hat is very neat, andso is my dress; but still they are very plain compared to the things allthe children that we saw had on. Did you see that little girl in greenvelvet with a sort of very soft fur, like shaded gray fluff, all roundit? And another one in a red silky dress, all trimmed with lace, and awhite feather as long--as long as----"
"Was it in that pretty big wide street?" asked Roger. "I saw a littleboy like me with a 'plendid coat all over gold buttons."
"That was a little page, not a gentleman," said Gladys, rathercontemptuously. "Don't you remember Mrs. Ffolliot's page? Only perhapshe hadn't so many buttons. I'd like to go a walk there every day,wouldn't you?"
But their conversation was interrupted by Madame Nestor's calling themdown to have a little roll and a glass of milk, which she had discoveredthey liked much better than wine and water.
"If only there would come a letter, or if Papa would come--oh, if Papawould but come before that Anna comes back again, everything would getall right! I do hope when he does come that Papa will let me give a nicepresent to Mrs. Nest," thought Gladys to herself as she was fallingasleep that night.
The next day was so bright and fine, that when the children saw MonsieurAdolphe putting on his coat to go out early in the morning they bothwished they might go with him, and they told him so. He smiled, but toldthem in his funny English that it could not be. He was going out in ahurry, and only about business--some orders he was going to get from theEnglish ladies.
"English ladies," repeated Gladys.
"Yes; have you not seen them? They were here one day."
"We saw them," said Gladys, smiling, "but they did not see _us_. Theythought we were mice," but the dictionary had to be fetched beforeAdolphe could make out what "mice" meant, even though Roger turned itinto "mouses" to make it plainer. And then he had to hurry off--it was along way, he said, in the Avenue Gerard, close to the Champs Elysees,that these ladies lived.
"Avenue Gerard," repeated Gladys, in the idle way children sometimescatch up a name; "that's not hard to say. We say _avenue_ in Englishtoo. It means a road with lots of trees. Are there lots of trees wherethose ladies live, Mr. 'Dolph?"
But "Mr. 'Dolph" had departed.
After these bright days came again some dreary autumn weather. Thechildren "wearied," as Scotch people say, a good deal. They were evenglad on the fourth day to be sent out a short walk with Francoise.
"I wonder if we shall see that nice gentleman again if we go up that bigstreet?" said Roger.
"I don't think we shall," said Gladys. "Most likely he doesn't livethere. And it's a great many days ago. Perhaps he's gone back toEngland."
It was indeed by this time nearly a fortnight that the little waifs hadfound refuge in the Rue Verte.
The walk turned out less disagreeable than their first one withFrancoise. They did go up the Boulevard, where the servant had somecommissions, but they did not meet the "nice gentleman." They came home,however, in very good spirits; for at the big grocer's shop, whereFrancoise had bought several things, one of the head men had given themeach an orange. And chattering together about how they should eatthem--whether it was nicest to suck them, or to cut them with a knife,or to peel them and divide them into what are familiarly called"pigs"--the two children, with Francoise just behind them, reached theshop in the Rue Verte.
The door stood open--that was a little unusual, but they did not stay towonder at it, but ran in quickly, eager to show their oranges to theirkind old friend. The door leading to the room behind the shop stood openalso, and the children stopped short, for the room was full of people,all talking eagerly and seemingly much excited. There were all theworkpeople and one or two neighbours, but neither Madame Nestor nor herson. Francoise, who had caught sight of the crowd and already overheardsomething of what they were saying, hurried forward, telling thechildren as she passed them to stay where they were, and frightened ofthey knew not what, the two little creatures took refuge in their oldcorner behind the blue sofa.
"What can it be?" said Gladys.
"P'raps Papa's come," suggested Roger.
Gladys's heart gave a great leap, and she sprang up, glancing in thedirection of the little crowd of people. But she quickly crouched downagain.
"Oh no," she said. "It can't be that. Francoise would not have told usto stay here. I'm afraid somebody's ill. It seems more like that."
Her instinct was right. By degrees the talking subsided, and one or twoof the workpeople went off to their business, and a moment or two after,when Adolphe Nestor suddenly made his appearance, there was a generalhush, broken only by one or two voices inquiring "how she was."
"Do you hear that, Roger?" whispered Gladys, nudging her brother;"they're asking how she is. That means Mrs. Nest, I'm sure. She must beill."
Roger said nothing, but listened solemnly.
"Her was quite well when us went out," he observed, after a considerablepause.
"Yes, but sometimes people get ill all of a sudden," said Gladys. Then,after a moment, "Roger," she said, "I think I'll go and ask. I shall be_so_ unhappy if poor Mrs. Nest is ill."
"So will I," said Roger.
They got up from the floor, and hand in hand crept timidly towards thedoor. Francoise was still standing there, listening to Adolphe, who wastalking to the two or three still standing there. Francoise turned atthe sound of the children's footsteps, and raised a warning finger. ButGladys put her aside, with what "Walter" would have called her imperiousair.
"Let us pass," she said. "I want to speak to Mr. 'Dolph."
The young man heard the sound of his own name.
"What is it?" he said quickly, in French.
"I want to know what's the matter. Is Mrs. Nest ill?" asked Gladys. Butshe had to repeat her question two or three times before Adolpheunderstood it He was flurried and distressed--indeed, his eyes looked asif he had been crying--and that made it more difficult for him to catchthe meaning of the child's words. But at last he did so.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Yes, there is much the matter. My poor mother--shehas fallen downstairs and broken her leg."
Gladys clasped her two hands together.
"Broken her leg," she repeated. "Oh, poor Mrs. Nest! Oh, it must hurther dreadfully."
At this Roger burst out crying. Adolphe turned round, and picked him upin his arms.
"Poor little fellow," he said, "yes, he, too, is very sorry. What we areto do I know not. Anna away, too. I hope you will be very good and quietchildren. Francoise, too, will be so busy--you will do all you can togive no trouble, will you not? I wish we had news of the Papa!" headded, as he turned away.
He did not speak at all unkindly, but he seemed very much troubled, andwith his broken English it was very difficult for Gladys to follow allhe said.
"May I go and see poor Mrs. Nest?" she said timidly.
"No, no; you cannot see her for a long time," replied Adolphe hastily,as he left the room.
"I must send a telegram to Mademoiselle Anna," he added to Francoise,and unfortunately for her peace of mind, Gladys understood him. Sheturned away, her lips quivering.
"Come upstairs, dear," she said to her little brother. "Come to our roomand I will take off your things."
Roger followed her obediently. Francoise had disappeared into thekitchen, where more than ever she was needed, as there was no one elseto see about the dinner--so the two little things climbed upstairs bythemselves. It was already growing dusk--the dull little room lookedcheerless, and felt chilly. Roger looked up into Gladys's eyes as shewas unfastening his coat.
"Are you crying, Gladdie?" he said, in his little soft sad tone.
Gladys turned away a moment to wipe her eyes. If she had not done so shewould probably have burst into a terrible fit of tears, for never hadshe felt so miserable and desolate. Her pride, too, was aroused, for shesaw most plainly that she and Roger were more than ever a sad burden andtrouble. But what could she do? What could any little girl of sevenyears old have done in such a case?
The sight of Roger's meek sad face gave her a kind of strength. For hissake she must keep up anyway the appearance of cheerfulness. So shekissed him, and answered quietly:
"I am very sorry for poor Mrs. Nest. She has been so kind to us."
"Yes," said Roger. Then a bright idea struck him. "I'll say my prayersfor her to be made better to-night. Will you, Gladdie?"
"Yes," said Gladys, and there was comfort in the thought to her, for itbrought with it another. "I'll ask God to help _us_," she thought toherself, "and when I go to bed I'll think and think, and perhaps He'llput something in my head. _Perhaps_ I must try to write to Miss Susan."
The loss of Madame Nestor's constant kindness was quickly felt. No onecame near the children, and when Gladys crept downstairs there was nolight in the little sitting-room--no glasses of milk and plate of rollswaiting for them on the table, as had become a habit. And Roger was coldand hungry! He had asked Gladys to go down and look if there was any"gouter," as they had learnt to call this afternoon luncheon, and whenshe came up again and told him "no," the poor little fellow, frightened,and cold, and hungry, burst into loud sobbing. Gladys was so
afraid itwould be heard, and that they would be scolded for disturbing MadameNestor, that she persuaded Roger to get into bed, where she covered himup warmly, and promised to tell him a story if he would leave offcrying.
It was not easy to keep her promise--she felt so on the point ofbursting into tears herself that she had to stop every now and then toclear her throat, and she was not sorry when, on one of these occasions,instead of Roger's shrill little voice urging her to "go on. What do youstop for, Gladdie?" she heard by his regular breathing that he hadfallen asleep. She had no light, but she felt about to be sure he waswell covered, and then, leaning her head on the side of his bed, shetried to "think."
"I would not mind anything so much if Anna was not coming back," shesaid to herself. "But if she is here, and poor Mrs. Nest shut up in herroom, she can do anything she likes to us, for Mr. 'Dolph wouldn't know;and if I told him he'd think I was very naughty to bother him when hismother was ill. I think I must write to Miss Susan--at least, if Anna is_very_ unkind, I will--unless--unless--oh, if it _would_ but happen forPapa to come to-morrow, or a letter! I'll wait till to-morrow andsee--and _perhaps_ Anna won't come back, not--not if Papa's in thetrain--she'd run away if she saw him, if he had Mrs. Nest's cap on,she'd"--and that was all, for before Gladys had settled what she woulddo, she too, as you see, had fallen asleep.
She slept some time--an hour or two--and she awoke, feeling cold andstiff, though what had awakened her she did not at first know, tillagain, bringing with it the remembrance of having heard it before, thesound of a voice calling her reached her ears.
"Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle Gladees," it said, "why do you not come? Thedinner is all ready, and I have called you so many times." It wasFrancoise, tumbling up the narrow stair in the dark. Gladys heard herfumbling at the door, and called out "Francoise!" Then Roger woke andstarted up, trembling. "What is it--what is the matter, Gladdie?" hecried, and Gladys had to soothe and pet him, and say it was onlyFrancoise; and Francoise in the meantime had got into the room,exclaiming at their having no light, and pulling a box of matches fromher pocket, struck one, and hunted about till she found a bit of candle.
It was a rather melancholy scene that the end of candle lighted up.
"So--you have been asleep!" exclaimed the servant; "well, perhaps it wasthe best thing. Well, come down now, Monsieur Adolphe is asking foryou," and she would scarcely let them wait to dip their hands in waterand smooth their tumbled hair.
"What will become of them when _she_ comes back and poor Madame ill inbed, who can say?" the peasant girl muttered to herself as she led themdownstairs. "I wish their friends would come to fetch them--I do. It'scertainly very strange for rich people to leave their children likethat," and Francoise shook her head.
Monsieur Adolphe received the children kindly. He had been a littlealarmed when Francoise had told him she could not find them in thesitting-room, for he knew it would trouble his poor mother greatly ifshe found her little favourites were neglected, for the thought of themwas one of the things most troubling the poor woman in the middle of hersuffering.
"If but the Papa would come for them," she had already said to her son."I know not what to do. I think we must ask some advice. Anna dislikesthem so; and if she comes back to-morrow----"
"She may not come till the day after," said Adolphe. "Do not troubleyourself about anything just now. The children are all right for themoment."
"And you will be kind to them at dinner, and give them nice pieces. Theydo not eat much, but they are used to more delicate cooking than ours."
"Reassure yourself. I will do all as you would yourself. And if you keepquiet, my good Mamma, perhaps in a day or two you can see them foryourself. The great thing is to keep quiet, and that will keep down thefever, the doctor says," repeated poor Adolphe, who was really a goodand affectionate son.
"Ah, yes," thought poor Madame Nestor, "that is all very well, but at myage," for she was really old--old to be the mother of Adolphe, havingmarried late in life, "at my age one does not break one's leg fornothing. But the good God knows best. If my time has come, so be it. Ihave no great anxiety to leave behind me, like some poor women, thankHeaven! Only these poor children!"
And thanks to what Madame Nestor had said, and thanks in part, too, tohis kind feelings, Adolphe was very friendly to the children at dinner;and in reply to their timid inquiries about his mother, told them thatthe doctor thought she was going on well, and in a day or two theymight see her, if they were very good and quiet. So the meal passed offpeacefully.
"After all," thought Adolphe, "they do not cost one much. They eat likesparrows. Still it is a great responsibility--poor little things!"
He took Roger in his arms and kissed him when he said good-night, andGladys would have gone to bed feeling rather less unhappy, for Francoiseput in her head to say she would come in half an hour to help to undress"Monsieur Roger," but for some words she overheard among some of theyoung workwomen, which she understood only too well--that MademoiselleAnna was returning the next morning!
"I _must_ write to Miss Susan," thought the little girl, as she at lastfell asleep.