CHAPTER XVIPEPSIE IS JEALOUS
WhenMam’selle Diane joined Lady Jane in the garden, she had gained her mother’s consent to give the child a music lesson once a week. The old lady had been querulous and difficult; she had discussed and objected, but finally Mam’selle Diane had overcome her prejudices.
“You don’t know what kind of people her relatives are,” the old lady said, complainingly, “and if we once open our doors to the child the aunt may try to crowd in. We don’t want to make any new acquaintances. There’s one satisfaction we still have, that, although we are poor,verypoor, we are always d’Hautreves, and we always have been exclusive, and I hope we always shall be. As soon as we allow those people to break down the barrier between us, they will rush in on us, and, in a little while, they will forget who we are.”
“Never fear, mama; if the aunt is as well bred asthe child, she will not annoy us. If we wish to know her, we shall probably have to make the first advances, for, judging by the child, they are not common people. I have never seen so gentle and polite a little girl. I’m sure she’ll be no trouble.”
“I don’t know about that. Children are natural gossips, and she is very intelligent for her age. She will notice everything, and the secret of your birds will get out.”
“Well, mama dear, if you feel that she will be an intrusion upon our privacy, I won’t insist; but I should so like to have her, just for two hours, say, once a week. It would give me a new interest; it would renew my youth to hear her angelic little voice sometimes.”
“Oh, I suppose you must have your way, Diane, as you always do. Young people nowadays have no respect for the prejudices of age. We must yield all our traditions and habits to their new-fashioned ideas, or else we are severe and tyrannical.”
“Oh, mama, dear mama, I’m sure you’re a little, just a little, unkind now,” said Mam’selle Diane, soothingly. “I’ll give it up at once if you really wish it; but I don’t think you do. I’m sure the child will interest you; besides, I’m getting on sowell with the bird—you wouldn’t have me give up my model, would you?”
“Certainly not, my dear. If you need her, let her come. At least you can try for a while, and if you find her troublesome, and the lessons a task, you can stop them when you like.”
When this not very gracious consent was obtained, Mam’selle Diane hastened to tell Lady Jane that, if her aunt approved, she could come to her every Saturday, from one to three, when she would teach her the piano, as well as singing; and that after the lesson, if she liked to remain awhile in the garden with the birds and flowers, she was at liberty to do so.
Lady Jane fairly flew to tell Pepsie the good news; but, much to her surprise, her merry and practical friend burst into tears and hid her face on the table among the pecan shells.
“Why, Pepsie—dear, dear Pepsie, what ails you?” cried Lady Jane, in an agony of terror, “tell me what ails you?” and, dropping Tony, she laid her little face among the shells and cried too.
“I’m—I’m—jealous,” said Pepsie, looking up after a while, and rubbing her eyes furiously. “I’m a fool, I know, but I can’t help it; I don’t want her to have you. I don’t want you to gothere. Those fine, proud people will teach you to look down on us. We’re poor, my mother sells pralines, and the people that live behind that green fence are too proud and fine to notice any one in this street. They’ve lived here ever since I was born, and no one’s seen them, because they’ve kept to themselves always; and now, when I’ve just got you to love, they want to take you away, they want to teach you to—despise—us!” and Pepsie stumbled over the unusual word in her passionate vehemence, while she still cried and rubbed angrily.
“But don’t cry, Pepsie,” entreated Lady Jane. “I don’t love Mam’selle Diane as well as I love you. It’s the music, the singing. Oh, Pepsie, dear, dear Pepsie, let me learn music, and I’ll be good and love youdearly!”
“No,—no, you won’t, you won’t care any more for me,” insisted Pepsie, the little demon of jealousy raging to such a degree that she was quite ready to be unjust, as well as unreasonable.
“Are you cross at me, Pepsie?” and Lady Jane crept almost across the table to cling tearfully to her friend’s neck. “Don’t be cross, and I won’t go to Mam’selle Diane. I won’t learn music, and, Pepsie, dear, I’ll—I’ll—give you Tony!”
This was the extreme of renunciation, and it touched the generous heart of the girl to the very quick. “You dear little angel!” she cried with a sudden revulsion of feeling, clasping and kissing the child passionately. “You’re as sweet and good as you can be, and I’m wicked and selfish! Yes, wicked and selfish. It’s for your good, and I’m trying to keep you away. You ought to hate me for being so mean.”
At this moment Tite Souris entered, and, seeing the traces of tears on her mistress’s cheeks, broke out in stern, reproachful tones.
“Miss Lady, what’s you be’n a-doin’ to my Miss Peps’? You done made her cry. I see how she’s be’n a-gwine on. You jes’ look out, or her ma’ll git a’ter you, ef yer makes dat po’ crooked gal cry dat a-way.”
“Hush, Tite,” cried Pepsie, “you needn’t blame Miss Lady. It was my fault. I was wicked and selfish, I didn’t want her to go to Mam’selle Diane. I was jealous, that’s all.”
“Pepsie cried because she thought I wouldn’t love her,” put in Lady Jane, in an explanatory tone, quite ignoring Tite’s burst of loyalty. “Mam’selle Diane is nobility—French nobility—and Pepsiethought I’d be proud, and love Mam’selle best,—didn’t you, Pepsie?”
“Now, jes’ hear dat chile,” cried Tite, scornfully. “If deyisnobil’ty, dey is po’ white trash. Shore’s I live, dat tall lean one wat look lak a graveyard figger, she git outen her bed ’fore sun-up, an’ brick herbanquetteher own se’f. I done seed her, one mornin’; she war a-scrubbin’ lak mad. An’ bress yer, honey, she done had a veil on; so no one won’t know her. Shore’s I live, she done brick herbanquettewid a veil on.”
“If she cleans thebanquetteherself, they must be very poor,” was Pepsie’s logical conclusion. “Perhaps, after all, they’re not so proud; only they don’t want people to know how poor they are. And, Tite, don’t you tell that on the poor lady. You know it’s just one of your stories about her having a veil on. It may have been some one else. You couldn’t tell who it was, if she had a veil on, as you say.”
This argument did not in the least shake Tite Souris in her conviction that she had seen the granddaughter of the Count d’Hautreve bricking herbanquettebefore “sun-up” with a veil over her face.
However, Lady Jane and Pepsie were reconciled, and the little cripple, to show her confidence in thechild’s affection, was now as anxious to have her go to Mam’selle Diane and learn music, as she was averse to it before.
“Yes, Lady dear, I want you to learn to play on the piano, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking of,” said Pepsie as they leaned confidentially toward each other across the table, “mama has some money in the bank. She’s been saving it to get something for me. You know, she does everything I want her to do. I wanted to learn to read, and she had a teacher come to me every day until I could read and write very well, so I’m sure she’ll do this, if I want her to; and this is what it is: She must buy a piano to put right there in that space next to bed.”
“For me to play on? Oh, Pepsie, how lovely!” and Lady Jane clasped her hands with delight.
“And you can practise all the time,” continued the practical Pepsie. “You know, if you ever learn music well you must practise a great deal. Cousin Marie practised three hours a day in the convent. And then, when you are grown up, you’ll sing in the cathedral, and earn a great deal of money; and you can buy a beautiful white satin dress, all trimmed down the front with lace, and they will ask you to sing in the French Opera, on Rue Bourbon; andevery one will bring you flowers, and rings and bracelets, and jewels, and you’ll be just like a queen.”
“And sit on a throne, and wear a crown?” gasped Lady Jane, her eyes wide and sparkling, and her cheeks flushed over the glories of Pepsie’s riotous imagination.
“Yes,” said Pepsie. Now that she had started she meant to give full rein to her fancy. “And every one will be ready to worship you, and you’ll ride out in a blue carriage, with eight white horses.”
“Oh, oh!” interrupted Lady Jane rapturously; “and you’ll go with me, and it will be just as good as riding in Tante Modeste’s milk cart.”
“Better, much better,” agreed Pepsie, quite willing, in her present mood, to admit that there was something better; “and then you’ll have a big, big house in the country, with grass, and trees, and flowers, and a fountain that will tinkle, tinkle all the time.”
“And you and Mama Madelon will live with me always.” Here a sudden shadow passed over the bright little face, and the wide eyes grew very wistful. “And, Pepsie, perhaps God will let papa and mama come and live with me again.”
“YES, LADY DEAR, I WANT YOU TO LEARN TO PLAY ON THE PIANO, AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I’VE BEEN THINKING OF,” SAID PEPSIE
“YES, LADY DEAR, I WANT YOU TO LEARN TO PLAY ON THE PIANO, AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I’VE BEEN THINKING OF,” SAID PEPSIE
“YES, LADY DEAR, I WANT YOU TO LEARN TO PLAY ON THE PIANO, AND I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I’VE BEEN THINKING OF,” SAID PEPSIE
“Perhaps so, dear,” returned Pepsie with quick sympathy. “When I say my prayers, I’ll ask.”
Presently Lady Jane said softly, with an anxious glance at Pepsie, “You know, you told me that mama might come back before Christmas. It’s nearly Christmas, isn’t it? Oh, I wish I could know if she was coming back! Can’t you ask your cards, Pepsie? Perhaps they’ll tell if she’ll come.”
“I’ll try,” replied Pepsie, “yes, I’ll try; but sometimes they won’t tell.”
When Lady Jane asked permission of Madame Jozain to study music with Mam’selle Diane, Tante Pauline consented readily. In fact, she was overjoyed. It was no common honor to have one’s niece instructed by a d’Hautreve, and it was another feather in her much beplumed cap. By and by people would think more of her and treat her with greater consideration. When she was once intimate with the d’Hautreve ladies, the neighbors wouldn’t dare turn the cold shoulder to her; for through their interest in the child she expected to gain a foothold for herself; but she had yet to learn how very exclusive a d’Hautreve could be, under certain circumstances.