"Yes!" whispered Mlle. Corinne, slipping to the floor and tenderlypushing him, "go! safest for everybody! And if you see a burglar _don'threaten him_!"
"No'm, I won't."
"No, but juz' run quick out the back door and fron' gate and holla'fire'! Go!"
At the crack of the door she listened after him while her sistercrowded close, whispering: "Ah, _pauvre_ Aline, always wise! Like us,silent! And tha'z after all the bravezt!"
In a moment Cupid was back, less frozen yet trembling: "She am' dah.Seem' like 'tis her leave de do' opem."
"Her clothes--they are gone?"
"No'm, all dah 'cep' de cloak she tuck on de machine. Reckon she outin de honey-sucker bower whah _dey_ sot together Sunday evenin'.Reckon Marie Madeleine gone dah. I'll go see."
"Ah, fearlezz boy, yes! Make quick!"
This time both women pushed, single file, all the way to the gardendoor. There they strained their sight down the path, beyond him, butthe bower was quite dark. "Corinne, _chere_, ought not one of us togo, yo'seff?--to spare her feelings--from that li'l' negro? You don'think one of us ought to go, yo'seff?"
"No, to sen' him, that is to spare those feel'--listen! . . . Ah,Yvonne, _grace au ciel_, she's there!"
They frankly wept. "Thangg the good God!"
"Yvonne, _chere_, you know, we are the cause of this. 'Tis biccausejuz'--you and me. And she's gone yonder juz' for one thing; to be asfar from her _miserie_ as she can."
"Yes, _chere_, I billieve that. I think even, she muz' not see us whenshe's riturning." No footfall sounded, but the cat came in, tail up,purring. Back in their chamber, with wet cheeks on its unlatched door,the sisters listened.
"I know what we muz' do, Yvonne, as soon as to-morrow. Tha'z strange Inever saw that biffo'!"
Cupid came and was let in. "She was al-lone, of co'se?" the pair askedfrom the edge of their bed.
"Oh, yass'm, o' co'se; in a manneh, yass'm."
"_Mon dieu_! li'l boy. In a manner? But how in a manner? Al-lone isal-lone! What she was doing?"
"Is I got to tell dat?"
"Ah, '_tit garcon_! Have you not got to tell it?"
"Well, she 'uz--she 'uz prayin'."
"And tha'z the manner she was not al-lone?"
"Yas'm, dass all." The little fellow dropped to his knees, clutched aknee of either questioner, and wept and sobbed.
XL
M. Beloiseau reached across his workbench and hung up his hammer andtongs. The varied notes of two or three remote steam-whistles told himthat the hour, of the day after the holiday, was five.
He glanced behind him, through his shop to the street door, where someone paused awaiting his welcome. He thought of Chester but it wasLandry, with an old broad book under his elbow.
"Ah, come in, Ovide."
As he laid aside his apron he handed the visitor the piece of metal hehad been making beautiful, and waved him to the drawing whose lines itwas taking.
"But those whistles," the bookman said, "they stop the handworkman too."
"Yes. In the days of my father, the days of handwork, they meant onlysteamboat', coming, going; but now swarm' of men and women, boys, andgirl', coming, going, living by machinery the machine-made life."
"'Sieur Beloiseau," Landry good-naturedly, said, "you're too just tocondemn a gift of the good God for the misuse men make of it."
Scipion glared and smiled at the same time: "Then let that gift of thegood God be not so hideouzly misuse'."
But Ovide amiably persisted: "Without machinery--plenty of it--I shouldnot have this book for you, nor I, nor you, ever have been born."
Chester, entering, found Beloiseau looking eagerly into the volume."All the same, Landry," the newcomer said, "you're no more a machineproduct than Mr. Beloiseau himself."
The bookman smiled his thanks while he followed the craftsman'sscrutiny of the pages. "'Tis what you want?" he asked, and Chester sawthat it was full of designs of ironwork, French and Spanish.
Scipion beamed: "Ah, you've foun' me that at the lazt, and just whenI'm wanting it furiouzly."
"Mr. Beloiseau," said Chester, "has a beautiful commission from the newPan-American Steamship Company."
"Thanks to Mr. Chezter," said Beloiseau, "who got me the job. Hencefor this book spot cash." He turned aside to a locked closet anddrawer.
"You had a pleasant holiday yesterday," said Landry to Chester.
"Who told you?"
"Mesdemoiselles, the two sisters Chapdelaine. I chanced to meet themjust now at the house of the archbishop, on the steps, they coming out,I going in. I had a book also for him."
"Why! What's taking them to the archbishop?" Chester put away afrown: "Did they reflect the pleasure of the holiday?"
"Mr. Chester, no." There was an exchange of gazes, but Scipionreturned, counting and tendering the price of the book.
"Well, good evening," Landry said, willing to linger; but "goodevening," said both the others.
Chester turned: "Beloiseau, I want to talk with you. Go, give yourselfa dip, brush some of that hair, and we'll dine alone in some place awayfrom things."
"A dip, hah! Always I scrub me any'ow till I come to the skin. AlsoI'll put a clean shirt. You can wait? I'll leave you this book."
Chester waited. When presently, with Scipion still picturesque thoughclean-shirted, they left the shop together, he gave the book a word ofpraise that set its owner off on the history of his craft. "Buthammered into a matrix"--he drew his watch and halted: "Spanish Fort,juzt too late; half-hour till negs train; I'll show you an example, myfather's work." They turned back.
Thus they lost a second train, and dined in the same snug nook as onthe day before with Aline and the rest. At twilight they took seats inJackson Square on a cast-iron bench "hardly worthy of the place," asChester suggested.
And Scipion flashed back: "Or, my dear sir, of any worthy place! Butyou was asking me----"
"About those four boys over in France, one of them yours."
"Biccause sinze all day yesterday----?"
"That's it. I can't help thinking that mademoiselle is somehow thecause of their going."
"Ah, of three she is, but of my son, no. My son he was already therewhen that war commence', and the cause of that was a very simple andor-_din_-ary in him, but not in the story of my father. I would liketo tell you ab-out that biccause tha'z also ab-out that house where wewas juz' seeing all that open-work on those balconie', and biccause sointerested, you, in old building', you are bound to hear ab-out thatsome day and probably hear it wrong."
"Let's have it now; she told me yesterday to ask you for it."
XLI
THE LOST FORTUNE
"Mighty solid," the ironworker said, "that old house, so square andhigh. They are no Creole brick it is make with, that old house."
Chester began to speak approvingly of the wide balconies runningunbrokenly around its four sides at both upper stories, but Beloiseaushook his head: "They don't billong to the firz' building of thathouse, else they _might_ have been Spanish, like here on the Cabildoand that old _Cafe Veau-qui-tete_. They would not be cast iron and ofthat complicate' disign, hah! But they are not even a French castiron, like those and those"--he waved right and left to the widebalconies of the Pontalba buildings flanking the square with suchgraceful dignity. "Oh, they make that old house look pretty good,those balconie', but tha'z a pity they were not wrought iron, biccauseM. Lefevre--he was rich--sugar-planter--could have what he choose, andshe was a very fashionable, his ladie. They tell some strange storiesab-out them and that 'ouse; cruelty to slave', intrigue with slave',duel' ab-out slave'. Maybe tha'z biccause those iron bar' up and downin sidewalk window', old Spanish fashion; maybe biccause in confusionwith that Haunted House in Royal Street, they are so allike, those twohouse'. But they are cock-an'-bull, those tale'. Wha's true theydon't tell, biccause they don' know, and tha'z what I'm telling you adthe present.
"When my father he was yet a boy, fo'teen, fiv
'teen, those Lefevre'they rent' to the _grand-mere_ of both Castanado and Dubroca, turnab-out, a li'l' slave girl so near white you coul'n' see she's black!You coul'n' even _suspec_' that, only seeing she's rent', that way, andknowing that once in a while, those time, that whitenezz coul'n' beav-void'. Myseff, me, I've seen a man, ex-slave, so white you woul'n'think till they tell you; but then you'd see it--black! But that li'l'girl of seven year', nobody coul'n' see that even avter told. Somepeople said: 'Tha'z biccause she's so young; when she's grow' up you'llsee. And some say, 'When she get chil'ren they'll show it, thosechil'ren--an' some be even dark!'
"Any'ow some said she's child of monsieur, and madame want to keep herout of sight that beneficent way. They would bet you any money if yougo on his plantation you find her slave mother by the likenezz. Shedi'n' look like him but they insist' that also come later. Any'owshe's rent' half-an'-half by those _grand-mere_' of Castanado andDubroca, at the firzt just to call 'shop'! at back door when a cuztomercome in, and when growing older to make herseff many other way' uzeful.And by consequence she was oft-en playmate with the chil'ren of allthat coterie there in Royal Street. Excep' my father; he was fo'teenyear' to her seven."
"Was she a handsome child?" Chester ventured.
"I think no. But in growing up she bic-came"--the craftsman handed outa pocket flash-light and an old _carte-de-visite_ photograph of ablack-haired, black-eyed girl of twenty or possibly twenty-three years."You shall tell me," he said:
"And you'll trust me, my sincerity?"
"Sir! if I di'n' truzt you, _ab-so-lutely_, you shoul'n' touch thatwith a finger."
"Well, then, I say yes, she's handsome, trusting you not to gild myplain words with your imagination. She's handsome, but in a way easilyoverlooked; a way altogether apart from the charms of color andtexture, I judge, or of any play of feeling; not floral, not startling,not exquisite; but _statuesque_, almost heavily so, and replete withthe virtues of character."
"Well," said Beloiseau, putting away the picture, "sixteen year' sherimain' rent' to mesdames that way, and come to look lag that. And allof our parent'--gran'parent'--living that simple life like you see us,their descendant', now, she biccame like one of thosefamilie'--Dubroca--Castanado--or of that coterie entire.
"So after while they want' to buy her, to put her free. But Mme.Lefevre she rif-use' any price. She say, 'If Fortune'--that was hername--'would be satisfi' to marry a nize black man like Ovide, whowould buy his friddom--ah, yes! But no! If I make her free without,she'll right off want to be marrie' to a white man. Tha'z the onlyarrengement she'll make with him; she's too piouz for any otherarrengement, while same time me I'm too piouz to let her _marry_ awhite man; my faith, that would be a crime! And also she coul'n' neverbe 'appy that way; she's too good and high-mind' to be marrie' to anywhite man wha'z willin' to marry a nigger.'
"So, then, it come to be said in all those card-club' that my fatherhe's try to buy Fortune so to marry her. An' by that he had a quarrelwith one of those young Lefevre', who said pretty much like his mother,only in another manner, pretty insulting. And, same old story, theyfought, like we say, 'under those oak,' Metairie Ridge, with sharpen'foil'. And my father he got a bad wound. And he had to be nurse' longtime, and biccause all those shop' got to be keep she nurse' him morethan everybody elze.
"Well, human nature she's strong. So, when he get well he say, 'Papa,I can' stay any mo' in rue Royale, neither in that _vieux carre_,neither in that Louisiana.' And my grandpere and all that coterie theysay: 'To go at Connect-icut, or Kanzaz, or Californie, tha'z noril-ief; you muz' go at France and Spain, wherever 'tis good to studythe iron-work, whiles we are hoping there will be a renaissance in thatart and that businezz; and same time only the good God know' what hecan cause to happen to lead a child of the faith out of trouble andsorrow.'
"So my father he went, and by reason of that he di'n' have to settlethat queztion of honor what diztress all the balance of the coterie;whether to be on the side of Louisiana, or the Union. He di'n' runaway to ezcape that war; he di'n' know 'twas going to be, and he cameback in the mi'l' of it, whiles the city was in the han' of that Unionarmy. Also what cause him to rit-urn was not that war. 'Twas one ofthose thing' what pro-juce' that saying that the truth 'tis mo'stranger than figtion.
"Mr. Chezter, 'twas a wonderful! And what make it the mo' wonderful,my father he wasn' hunting for that, neither hadn' ever dream' of it.He was biccome very much a wanderer. One day he juz' chance' to be ina village in Alsace, and there he saw some chil'ren, playing in thestreet. And he was very thirzty, from long time walking, and herequest' them a drink of water. And a li'l' girl fetch' him a drink.But she was modess and di'n' look in his face till he was biggening todrink. Then she look' up--she had only about seven year', and myfather he look' down, and he juz' drop that cup by his feet that itbroke--the handle. And when she cry, and he talk' with her and saydon' cry, he can make a cem-ent juz' at her own house to mend that to aperfegtion, he was astonizh' at her voice as much as her face. Andwhen he ask her name and she tell him, her firz' name, and say tha'zthe name of her _grand'-mere_, he's am-aze'! But when he see hermother meeting them he's not surprise', he's juz' lightning-struck.
"Same time he try to hide that, and whiles he's mixing that cem-ent andsticking that handle he look' two-three time' into the front of thehair of that li'l' girl, till the mother she get agitate', and sheh-ask him: 'What you're looking? Who told you to look for somethingthere? _Ma foi_! you're looking for the _pompon gris_ of my motherand grandmother! You'll not fine it there. Tha'z biccause she's soyoung; when she's grow' up you'll see; but'--she part' as-ide her ownhair in front and he see', my father, under the black a li'l' patch ofgray, and he juz' say, '_Mon dieu_!' while she egsclaim'--
"'If you know anybody's got that _pompon_ in Louisiana, age of me, orelze, if older, the sizter of my mother, she's lost yonder sinze mo'than twen'y-five year'. My anceztor' they are _name_' Pompon for thatli'l' gray spot.'
"Well, then they--and her 'usband, coming in--they make great frien'.My father he show' them thiz picture, and when he tell them theorigin-al of that also is name' Fortune, like that child an' hermother, and been from in-fancy a slave, they had to cry, all of themtogether. And then they tell my father all ab-out those two sizter',how they get marrie' in that village with two young men, cousin' toeach other, and how one pair, a year avter, emigrate' to Louisiana withli'l' baby name' Fortune, and--once mo' that old story--they are boundto the captain of the ship for the prise of the passage till somebodyin Ammerica rid-eem them and they are bound to him to work that out.And coming accrozz, the father--ship-fever--die', and arriving, thepassage is pay by the devil know' who'.
"Then my father he tell them that chile muz' be orpheline at two-threeyear', biccause while seeming so white she never think she wasn' black.
"And so my father, coming ad that village the moz' unhappy in theworl', he went away negs day the moz' happy. And he took with him somephoto' showing that mother and chile with the mother's hair comb' toegspose that _pompon gris_; and also he took copy from those record' ofbabtism of the babtism of that li'l' Fortune, _emigre_.
"Same time, here at home, _our_ Fortune she was so sick with somethingthe doctor he coul'n' make out the nature, and she coul'n' eat tillthey're af-raid she'll die. And one day the doctor bring her fatherconfessor, there where she's in bed, and break that gently that myfather he's come home, and then that he's bring with him the perfec'proof that she's as white as she look'. Well, negs day she's out ofbed; secon' she's dress--and laughing!--and eating! And every day myfather he's paying his intention', and Mme. Lefevre she's rij-oice,biccause that riproach is pass' from monsieur her 'usband and prittyquick they are marrie', and tha'z my mother."
After a reverent silence Chester spoke: "And lived long and happilytogether?"
"Yes, a long, beautiful life. Maybe that life woul'n' be of adiztinction sufficient to you, but to them, yes. They are gone butsince lately."
"And that Lef
evre house?"
"Ah, you know! Full of Italian'--ten-twelve familie', with washing onstreet veranda eight day ev'ry week. _Pauvre vieux carre_!"
XLII
MELANIE
"I suppose," Chester said, breaking another silence, "you and thatmother, and your father, have sat in the flowery sunshine of this oldplaza together----"
"A thousan' time'," the ironworker replied, mused a bit, and added: "Myfrien', you are a so patient listener as I never see. Biccause I knowyou are all that time waiting for a differen' story. And now--I shalltell you that?"
"Yes, however it hits me I've got to know it."
"Well, after that, a year and half, I am born. I grow up. I 'avebrother' and sizter'. We all get marrie', and they, they are scatter'over the face of Louisiana. But me, I'm the oldest and my father takegreat trouble in educating me to sugceed him in his businezz, and so Idid, like you see. And the same with Dubroca and with Castanado--Ducatelhe's different he's come into that antique businezz by his mizfortune andhe's--oh, he's all right only he's not of the same inspiration to be ofthat li'l' clique. He's up-town Creole and with the up-town Creole mind.And those De l'Isle' they also got a son, and Mme. Alexandre she have avery amiable daughter; and, laz', not leazt, you know, thoseChapdelaine'----"
"I certainly do," Chester murmured.
"Yes, assuredlie," said Beloiseau. "Well, now: In those generation'befo' there was in Royal Street--and Bourbon--and Dauphine--bisside'crozz-street'--so many of our--I ignore the Englizh word for that--our_affinite_, that our whole market of mat-_rim_-ony was not juz' in onesquare of Royal; but presently, it break out like an epidemique, ammongs'our chil'ren, to marry juz' accrozz and accrozz the street; a Beloiseauto a Castanado, a Castanado to a Dubroca, and so forth--even fifth!" Thespeaker smiled benignly. "Hah! many year' they work' my geniuz hard tomake iron candlestick'--orig-in-al diz-ign--for wedding-present'. Themoze of them, they marrie' without any romanze, egcep' what cann' beav-oid', inside the heart, when both partie' are young, and in lovetogether, and not rich neither deztitute. But year biffo' laz' we havethe romanze of that daughter of Mme. Alexandre and son of De l'Isle andson of Dubroca."
The Flower of the Chapdelaines Page 14
