"For going where, auntie; going where?"
"Then the rain came in God's own hour," she continued, as if wholly toherself, "and washed out their trail."
I sprang from the bed. "Aunt 'Liza!"
"Yes, Maud, they've run away, and if only they may _get_ away. God bepraised!"
Of course, I cried like an infant. I threw myself upon her bosom."Oh, auntie, auntie, I'm afraid it's my fault! But when I tell you howfar I was from meaning it----"
"Don't tell me a word, my child; I wish it were my fault; I'd like tobe in your shoes. And, I don't care how right slavery is, I'll neverown a darky again!"
One day some two months after, at home again with father. Just as Iwas leaving the house on some errand, Sidney--ragged, wet, andbedraggled as a lost dog--sprang into my arms. When I had got herreclothed and fed I eagerly heard her story. Three of the four hadcome safely through; poor Mingo had failed; if I ever tell of him itmust be at some other time. In the course of her tale I asked aboutthe compass.
"Dat little trick?" she said fondly. "Oh, yass'm, it wah de salvationo' de Lawd 'pon cloudy nights; but time an' ag'in us had to sepa'ate,'llowin' fo' to rejine togetheh on de bank o' de nex' creek, an' which,de Lawd a-he'pin' of us, h-it al'ays come to pass; an' so, afteh all,Miss Maud, de one thing what stan' us de bes' frien' night 'pon night,next to Gawd hisse'f, dat wah his clock in de ske-eye."
VI
"Landry," Chester said next day, bringing back the magazine barely halfan hour after the book-shop had reopened, "that's a true story!"
"Ah, something inside tells you?"
"No need! You remember this, near the end? '_Poor Mingo had failed[to escape]; if I ever tell of him it must be at another time_.'Landry, it's so absurd that I hardly have the face to say it; I'vegot--ha-ha-ha!--I've got a manuscript! and it fills that gap!" Thespeaker whipped out the "Memorandum"; "Here's the story, by my ownuncle, of how the three got over the border and how Mingo failed. I'dtotally forgotten I had it. I disliked its beginning far more than Idid 'Maud's' yesterday. For I hate masks and costumes as much as Mr.Castanado loves them; and a practical joke--which is what the storybegins with, in costume, though it soon leaves it behind--nauseates me.Comical situation it makes for me, this 'Memorandum,' doesn'tit--turning up this way?"
Ovide replied meditatively: "To lend it, even to me, would seem asthough you sought----"
"It would put me in a false light! I don't like false lights."
"It would mask and costume you."
"Why, not so badly as if I were really in society; as, you know, I'mnot! The only place where any man, but especially a society man, canproperly seek a girl's society is in society. The more he's worthy tomeet her, the more hopelessly--I needn't say hopelessly, butcompletely--he's cut off from meeting her any other way. Isn't that agay situation? Ha-ha-ha!"
"You would probably move much in society, even Creole society, withoutmeeting mademoiselle; she has less time for it than you."
"Is that so?"
Cupid, the evening before, had carried a flat, square parcel like ashop's account-books to be written up under the home lamp. Staring atLandry, Chester rather dropped the words than spoke them: "Think of it!The awful pity! For the like of her! Of her! Why, how on earth--?No, don't tell! I know what I'd think of any other man following inher wake and asking questions while hard fortune writes her history. Agirl like her, Landry, has no business with a history!"
"Mr. Chester."
"Yes?"
"Has that 'Memorandum' never been printed? I can find out for you, in_Poole's Index_."
"Do it! It's good enough, and it's named as if to be printed. See?'The Angel of----'"
"Then why not have Mr. Castanado, while selecting a publisher formademoiselle's manuscript, select for both?"
Chester shone: "Why--why, happy thought! I'll consider that, indeedI will! Well, good mor'----"
"Mr. Chester."
"Well?"
"Why did you want that new book yesterday?"
"I've met that nice old man the book calls 'the judge,' and he's coaxedme to break my rules and dine with him, at his home uptown, to-night."
"I'm glad. Madame, his wife, was my young mistress when I was a slave.I wish her granddaughter and his grandson--they also are married--werenot over in the war--Red Cross. You'd like them--and they would likeyou."
"Do they know mademoiselle?"
"Indeed, yes! They are the best of her very few friends. But--theAtlantic rolls between."
Chester went out. In the rear door Ovide's wife appeared, knitting."Any close-ter?" she asked over her silver-bowed spectacles.
"Some," he said, taking down _Poole's Index_.
She came to his side and they placidly conversed. As she began toleave him, "No," she said, "we kin wish, but we mustn' meddle. All anyof us want' or got any rights to want is to see 'em on speakin' terms.F'om dat on, hands off. Leave de rest to de fitness o' things, deeverlast'n' fitness o' things!"
VII
At the Castanados', the second evening after, Chester was welcomed intoa specially pretty living-room. But he found three other visitors.Madame, seated on a sort of sofa for one, made no effort to rise. Herface, for all its breadth, was sweet in repose and sweeter when shespoke or smiled. Her hands were comparatively small and the play ofher vast arms was graceful as she said to a slim, tallish, comely womanwith an abundance of soft, well-arranged hair:
"Seraphine, allow me to pres-ent Mr. Chezter."
She explained that this Mme. Alexandre was her "neighbor of the nextdoor," and Chester remembered her sign: "Laces and Embroideries."
"Scipion," said Castanado to a short, swarthy, broad-bearded man, "Ihave the honor to make you acquaint' with my friend Mr. Chezter."
Chester pressed the enveloping hand of "S. Beloiseau, Artisan inOrnamental Iron-work."
"Also, Mr. Chezter, Mr. Rene Ducatel; but with him you are alreadyacquaint', I think, eh?"
Chester shook hands with a small, dapper, early-gray, superdignifiedman, recalling his sign: "Antiques in Furniture, Glass, Bronze, Plate,China, and Jewelry." M. Ducatel seemed to be already taking leave.His "anceztral 'ome," he said, was far up-town; he had dropped insolely to borrow--showing it--the _Courrier des Etats-Unis_.
That journal, Castanado remarked to Chester as at a corner table hepoured him a glass of cordial, brought the war, the trenches, the poiluand the boche closer than any other they knew. Beloiseau and Mme.Alexandre, he softly explained, had come in quite unlooked-for todiscuss the great strife and might depart at any moment. Then thereading!
But Chester himself interested those two and they stayed. When he saidthat Beloiseau's sidewalk samples had often made him covet some excusefor going in and seeing both the stock and the craftsman, "That wasexcuse ab-undant!" was the prompt response, and Castanado put in:
"Scipion he'd rather, always, a non-buying connoisseur than a buyingPhilistine."
"Come any day! any hour!" said Beloiseau.
Presently all five were talking of the surviving poetry of bothartistic and historic Royal Street. "Twenty year' ag-o," said theironworker, "looking down-street from my shop, there was not a buildingin sight without a romantic story. My God! for example, that Hotel St.Louis!"
Chester--"had heard one or two of its episodes only the evening before,at that up-town dinner, from a fine old down-town Creole, a fellowguest, with whom he was to dine the next week."
"Aha-a-a! precizely ac-rozz the street from Mme. Alexandre!" said thehostess. "M'sieu' et Madame De l'Isle! Now I detec' that!"
"Have they no son?--or--or daughter?" he asked.
"Not any," Mme. Alexandre broke in with a significant sparkle; "juz'the two al-lone."
"They live over my shop," Beloiseau said. "You muz' know that doublegate nex' adjoining me."
"Oh, that lovely piece of ironwork? I took that for a part of yourestablishment."
"I have only the uze of it with them. My _grandpere_ he made thosegate',
for the father of Mme. De l'Isle, same year he made those greatopenwork gate' of Hotel St. Louis. You speak of episode'! One summer,renovating that hotel, they paint' those gate'--of iron openwork--inimitation--_mon Dieu_!--of marbl'! _Ciel_! the tragedy of _that_!Yes, they live over me; in the whole square, both side' the street,last remaining of the 'igh society."
When Mme. Alexandre finally rose to go, and had kissed the upturnedbrow of her hostess, she went by an inner door and rear balcony. Andwhen Chester and Beloiseau began to take leave their host said toChester:
"You dine with M. De l'Isle Tuesday. Well, if you'll come again herethe next evening we'll attend to--that business."
"Wouldn't that be losing time? I can just as well come sooner."
"No," said madame, "better that Wednesday."
Chester was nettled, but he recovered when the ironworker walked withhim around into Bienville Street and at his _pension_ door lamented thepathetic decay of the useful arts and of artistic taste, since theadvent of castings and machinery. The pair took such liking for eachother's tenets of beauty, morals, art, and life that Chester walkedback to the De l'Isle gates, and their parting at last was at thecorner half-way between their two domiciles.
Meanwhile madame was saying to her spouse, "Aha! you see? The power ofprayer! Ab-ove all, for the he'pless! By day the fo' corner' of myroom, by night the fo' post' of my bed, are----"
"Yes, _cherie_, I know."
"Yes, they're to me for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John! Since threedays every time I heard the cathedral clock I've prayed to them; andnow----!"
"Well, my angel? Now?"
"Well, now! He's dining there next Tuesday!"
"Truly. Yet even now we can only hope----"
"Ah, no! Me, I can also continue to supplicate! From now tillWednesday, every time that clock, I'll pray those four _evangelistes_!and Thursday you'll see--the power of prayer! Oh, 'tis like _magique_,that power of prayer!"
VIII
On Tuesday evening Chester, a country boy yet now and then, was firstat the De l'Isles'.
Madame lauded him. "Punctualitie! tha'z the soul of pleasure!" Shehad begun to explain why her other guests included but one young lady,when here they came. First, the Prieurs, a still handsome Creolecouple whom he never met again. Then that youthful-aged up-town pair,the Thorndyke-Smiths. And last--while Smith held Chester captive totell him he knew his part of Dixie, having soldiered there in the CivilWar--the one young lady, Mlle. Chapdelaine. As Chester turned towardher she turned away, but her back view was enough to startle him.
"Aline," the hostess began as she brought them face to face, butwhatever she said more might as well have been a thunderbolt throughthe roof. For Aline Chapdelaine was SHE.
They went out together. What a stately dining-room! What carvings!What old china and lace on the board, under what soft, richillumination! The Prieurs held the seats of honor. Chester was on thehostess's left. Mademoiselle sat between him and Mr. Smith. It wouldbe pleasant to tell with what poise the youth and she dropped intoconversation, each intensely mindful--intensely aware that the otherwas mindful--of that Conti Street corner, of Ovide's shop, and of "TheClock in the Sky," and both alike hungry to know how much each had beentold about the other. Calmly they ignored all earlier encounter andentered into acquaintance on the common ground of the poetry of thenarrow region of decay in which this lovely home lay hid "like a lostjewel."
"Ah, not quite lost yet," the girl protested.
"No," he conceded, "not while the poetry remains," and Smith, on herother hand, said:
"Not while this cluster of shops beneath us is kept by those who nowkeep them."
"My faith!" the hostess broke in, "to real souls 'tis they are thewonder--and the _poesie_--and the jewels! Ask Aline!"
"Ask me," Chester said, as if for mademoiselle's rescue; "I discoveredthem only last week."
"And then also," quietly said Aline, "ask me, for I did not discoverthem only last week."
M. Prieur joining in enabled Chester to murmur: "May I ask yousomething?"
"You need not. You would ask if I knew you had discovered them--M.Castanado and the rest."
"And you would answer?"
"That I knew they had discovered you."
"Discovered, you mean, my spiritual substance?"
"Yes, your spiritual substance. That's a capital expression, Mr.Chester, your 'spiritual substance.' I must add that to my English."
"Your English is wonderfully correct. May I ask something else?"
"I can answer without. Yes, I know where you're going to-morrow andfor what; to read that old manuscript. Mr. Chester, that otherstory--of my _grand'mere_, 'Maud'; how did you like that?"
"It left me in love with your _grand'mere_."
"Notwithstanding she became what they used to call--you know the word."
"Yes, 'nigger-stealer.' How did you ever add that to your English?"
"My father _was_ one. Right here in Royal Street. Hotel St. Louis.Else he might never have married my--that's too long to tell here."
"May I not hear it soon, at your home?"
"Assuredly. Sooner or later. My aunts they are born raconteurs."
"Oh! your aunts. Hem! Do you know? I had an uncle who once was yourgrandfather's sort of robber, though a Southerner born and bred."
"Yes, Ovide's wife told me. Will you permit me a question?"
"No," laughed Chester, "but I can answer it. Yes. Those four poorrunaways to whom your sweet Maud showed the clock in the sky were thesame four my uncle helped on--oh, you've not heard it, and it also istoo long. I can lend you his 'Memorandum' if you'll have it."
She hesitated. "N-no," she said. "Ah, no! I couldn't bear thatresponsibility! Listen; Mr. Smith is going to tell a war story of thecity."
But no, that gentleman's story was yet another too long for the momenteven when the men were left to their cigars. Instead he and Chestermade further acquaintance. When they returned to the ladies, "I wantyou to talk with my wife," said Mr. Smith, and Chester obeyed. Yetsoon he was at mademoiselle's side again and she was saying in adropped voice:
"To-morrow when you're at the Castanados' to read, so privately, wouldyou be willing for Mme. De l'Isle to be there--just madame alone?"
Oh, but men are dull! "I'd be honored!" he said. "They can modify theprivacy as they please." Oh, but men are dull! There he had to giveplace to M. Prieur and presently accepted some kind of socialinvitation, seeing no way out of it, from the Smiths. So ended theevening. Mlle. Chapdelaine was taken to her home, "close by," as shesaid, in the Prieurs' carriage.
"They are juz' arround in Bourbon Street, those Chapdelaines," said theDe l'Isles to Chester, last to go. "Y'ought to see their li'l'flower-garden. Like those two aunt' that maintain it, 'tis unique.Y'ought to see that--and them."
"I have mademoiselle's permission," he replied.
"Ah, well, then!--ha, ha!" The pair exchanged a smile which seemed tothe parting guest to say: "After all he's not so utterly deficient!"
IX
Again the Castanados' dainty parlor, more dainty than ever. No onethere was in evening dress, though with its privacy "modified as theCastanados pleased," it had gathered a company of seven.
Chester, not yet come, would make an eighth. Madame was in her specialchair. And here, besides her husband, were both M. and Mme. De l'Isle,Mme. Alexandre and Scipion Beloiseau. The seventh was M. PlacideDubroca, perfumer; a man of fifty or so, his black hair and mustacheinclined to curl and his eyes spirited yet sympathetic. Just entered,he was telling how consumed with regret his wife was, to be keptaway--by an old promise to an old friend to go with her to thatwonderful movie, "Les Trois Mousquetaires," when Chester came in andalmost at once a general debate on Mlle. Chapdelaine's manuscript wasin full coruscation.
"In the firs' place," one said--though the best place he could seizewas the seventeenth--"firs' place of all--competition! My frien's, wecannot hope to nig-otiate with that No
rth in the old manner which weare proud, a few of us yet, to _con_-tinue in the rue Royale. Everypublisher----"
Mme. Castanado had a quotation that could not wait: "We got to be 'wiselike snake' an' innocent like pigeon'!'"
"Precizely! Every publisher approach' mus' know he's bidding agains'every other! Maybe they are honess men, and _if_ so they'll berij-oice'!"
A non-listener was trying to squeeze in: "And sec'--and sec'--andsecon' thing--if not firs'--is guarantee! They mus' pay so much profitin advance. Else it be better to publish without a publisher, and withadvertisement' front and back! Tiffany, Royal Baking-Powder, IvorySoap it Float'! Ten thousand dolla' the page that _Ladies' 'OmeJournal_ get', and if we get even ten dolla' the page--I know a manwhat make that way three hundred dolla'!"
"He make that net or gross?" some one asked.
"Ah! I think, not counting his time _sol_-iciting thoseadvertisement', he make it _nearly_ net."
Chester made show of breaking in and three speakers at once begged himto proceed: "How much of a book," he asked Mme. Castanado, "will themanuscript make? How long is it?"
She looked falteringly to her husband: "'Tis about a foot long, nineinch' wide. Marcel, pazz that to monsieur."
The husband complied. Chester counted the lines of one of the pages.Madame watched him anxiously.
"Tha'z too wide?" she inquired.
"It isn't long enough to make a book. To do that would take--oh--seventimes as much."
The Flower of the Chapdelaines Page 3
