take me. Mamma,' she said, thenstopped and hesitated.
"`What is it, Edmee?'
"`Does mamma Germain know about what is troubling you?'
"`Yes, dear; she does.'
"`Might I--would you mind her telling me?'
"The Countess considered a moment.
"`You may ask her to tell you. I know she will say nothing that is notwise and sensible.'
"`Thank you, mamma,' said Edmee, well pleased. `You see, dear mamma, ifit is anything that troubles you, it will save you the pain of tellingme,' she added, with a little womanly protecting air she sometimes usedto her mother; `and then this evening we can talk it over, and I will domy best to console you. Good-bye; and good-bye, little Edmee,' shesaid, waving her hand to her own portrait, as she ran off; `take care oflittle mother till I come back.'
"Big Edmee, as she now considered herself, was very silent on her way tothe village that afternoon. She went down the long, red-paved passagesand crossed the large tiled hall, so cool and pleasant in summer, but socold in winter, with the two great flights of stairs one at each side,meeting up above on a marble landing, and again branching off till theyended in an immensely wide and long corridor, running the whole lengthof the house, with doors on each side leading into rooms which of lateyears had been but seldom used. Edmee stopped a moment when she hadhalf crossed the hall and looked up--then out through the open doorwayon to the terrace.
"`How I love the chateau!' she said to herself. `I daresay it isn't sogrand as Sarinet, but I don't care; I should never be so happy anywhereelse. I do hope I shall never, _never_ have to go away from Valmont,'and Nanette wondered what had come over her usually talkative littlemistress, for all the way through the park and along the village streetshe hardly said a word.
"The Germains' cottage was at the further end. To reach it Edmee had topass the old church, a large and imposing building for so small avillage, and the neat little parsonage, or _presbytere_, as it iscalled, where lived the good old cure, who had baptised and married andseen die more than one generation since he had first come to Valmont.He was standing at his garden gate as the little girl passed, and,though he smiled and waved his hand to her, he did not speak or enticeher to come in to see his flowers and bees as usual, which rathersurprised her.
"`I think Monsieur the Cure looks sad this morning,' thought Edmee;`perhaps he too knows the news that is making little mother sad.'
"And unconsciously her own face looked graver than usual as she noddedback in greeting to all her friends, who came to their cottage doors tosee their little lady pass.
"The Germains' cottage was a little better than most of the others inthe village, yet it was extremely plain and simple. It was perhaps theneatness and cleanliness that made it seem so much more comfortable thanits neighbours, though compared with such villages as Sarinet, everycottage in Valmont was a picture of prosperity. There were few but whatpossessed one or two good beds--sometimes, it is true, only recesses inthe wall, but with good mattresses and blankets; but in several therewere substantial four posters, which had been handed down forgenerations. And in almost all, the large family cupboards, which areto be seen, I believe, nearly all over France, and which those learnedin such subjects can recognise by their carving as belonging to thevarious parts of the country.
"The walls of Madame Germain's kitchen were somewhat smoke-stained, forin cold or stormy weather it is, of course, impossible to keep the smokeof the great open chimneys altogether in its proper channel. But once ayear it was whitewashed, and just at this season, the end of the summer,when the weather had been better for several months, it looked fresh andclean.
"Madame Germain was sitting by a table near the window, arrangingEdmee's tapestry frame, which the little girl had left behind her thelast time to have a mistake which she had made put right. She hadalready cleared up all remains of their dinner, though the big pot wassimmering slowly by the fire, reminding one that supper and soup were tocome.
"`So there you are, my child,' said the good woman; `I was justexpecting you. See, here is where you made the wrong stitch--I have putit all right. You must get on with it, my child, if it is to be readyfor my lady's birthday.'
"`Yes, I know,' said Edmee, sitting down with a rather disconsolate air.`Nanette,' she added, rather less courteously than she usually spoke,`you may go; I don't want you; Pierre will bring me home.'
"`Very well, Mademoiselle,' said Nanette; `of course I was only waitingfor Mademoiselle's pleasure.'
"Madame Germain looked rather anxiously at Edmee when the maid had lefther.
"`I don't mean to be cross,' said the little girl, `but she troubles me,Mother Germain. She would chatter all the way, and I didn't want totalk. Mamma Germain, there is something very much the matter; you musttell me what it is, for you know. I saw it in Monsieur the Cure's face,and even, it seemed to me, in the look of the villagers, as I passed. Iam so unhappy; tell me what it is. Mamma said I might ask you,' and thechild pushed aside her embroidery frame and knelt down beside her oldfriend, leaning her elbows on Madame Germain's knees."
CHAPTER SIX.
"Mother Germain stroked back the fair hair from Edmee's forehead.
"`My lady said I might tell you?' she said slowly, `my dear, do not lookso unhappy. It is no such very news. It is only what we have alwaysknown would have to be, sooner or later. You are growing a big girl,Edmee--indeed, I should no longer call you thus by your name.'
"`Ah yes, yes, mamma Germain,' interrupted the child; `to you I mustalways be Edmee.'
"Madame Germain smiled.
"`You will always be as dear to me as my own child, whatever name youare called by,' she said. `But as I was saying, Edmee, you are growinga big girl; there are many things young ladies of your station need tolearn that cannot be taught in a village like Valmont. And your dearmother has never wished to be separated from you, so she would not sendyou away to a convent to be educated, as so many young girls are sent.That is why she now feels there is truth in what her brother, my lordthe Marquis, is always saying--that she must go to live in Paris forawhile, taking you with her. There you can have lessons of every kind,in all the accomplishments right for you to know. And my lady too--shehas lived here so many years, seldom seeing any friends of her ownrank--perhaps for her, too, it may be well--this change. It is onlynatural, sadly as we shall all miss her.'
"Edmee's face had grown more and more melancholy as Madame Germain wenton speaking, till at last she dropped it in her hands, and, leaning herhead on her friend's knees, burst into a fit of sobbing. She did notcry loudly or wildly, but Madame Germain, laying her hand on hershoulders, felt how the child shook all through, and was startled at theeffect of her words.
"`My child, my precious little lady,' she said, `do not take it so toheart. Be brave, my Edmee. Think how it will trouble your dear mammaif she sees you so unhappy. For it is for your sake my lady is doingthis--for your good--that you may grow up all that she and the goodCount hoped you would.'
"Edmee raised her tear-stained face.
"`I don't mean to be naughty,' she said, `but I don't want to go toParis. I want to stay here, among my own people. In Paris no one willlove us; it will all be full of strangers, who care for us no more thanwe care for them. Here in my own Valmont I know every face. I neverwalk down the village street without every one smiling at me. Oh! mammaGermain, I shall feel starved and cold among strangers, and I shallchoke to be in a town among houses and walls--no longer my dear gardensand park, and trees and fields, and all the lovely country.'
"`But that is selfish, Edmee, my child,' said her kind friend. `If yourdear mother can make up her mind to do it--for to her it is perhaps evenmore painful than to you--for your sake, you at least should be gratefulto her, and do your best to show her you are so. In after years, if younever saw anything of the world but your little Valmont, you mightregret your ignorance--might even reproach your friends for having shutyou up in this corner. And you will come back again. It is no
t for_always_ you are going away.'
"`No, indeed, that is my only comfort,' said Edmee. `I will try tolearn all my lessons as fast and well as ever I can, so that littlemother will soon see there is no need to stay longer in Paris, and wewill come back, never again to leave our dear Valmont. Will not that bea good plan, mother Germain?'
"`Excellent!' said the good woman, delighted to see that the child hadtaken up this idea; `that will certainly be much better than crying.'
"`Though,' continued Edmee, `I shall not like Paris--I have a sort offear of it. I think there must be many cruel people there. ThatVictorine--do you remember her, mamma Germain?--she told me things