AN UNEXPECTED GREETING
The Orderly called a cab and assisted Jeanne into it, putting her satchel
and basket beside her. Then springing in he gave the order and they were
off.
Past Lafayette Square with its city hall, churches and Odd Fellows Hall
which were grouped round it with fine effect they went, and on into
that portion of the city that was known as the Faubourg Marigny whose
residences were built with more architectural generosity, broader spaces,
longer vistas, ampler gardens and with more sacrifices to the picturesque
than the part of the city through which they had just passed.
At last the cab turned into the courtyard of a massive brick building.
It was a true Spanish building with broad doorways and windows, the
roof of which was a solid terrace surrounded by a stone balustrade. The
establishment had all the privacy of isolation and seclusion and was a
charming spot. The gardens were very large and spacious, and fragrant
with the blossoms from the magnolia groves. The avenue to the house was
shaded with orange trees that later would be redolent with perfume and
beautiful beyond description. Fruit trees were everywhere. Pomegranate,
peach, banana, fig, pear interspersed with rose trees and jasmine whose
odors ravished the senses.
The cab swept in an extensive circle round the courtyard to the carriage
step before the broad doorway. A tall gentleman, elegantly appareled,
stood leaning in an easy attitude against one of the pillars of the broad
piazza smoking a cigar. He advanced to meet the arrivals as the Orderly
threw open the door of the cab and handed out the girl.
"General Butler presents his compliments to Mr. and Madame Vance," he
said, with a deep bow, "and begs to introduce to them their niece, Miss
Vance of New York."
"My niece!" exclaimed the gentleman giving Jeanne a look of astonishment.
"I have none unless my brother has a daughter. Are you Dick's child?"
"Yes," replied Jeanne, her heart beating quickly. "You are Uncle Ben,
aren't you?" with a trace of wistfulness in her voice.
"I am Benjamin Vance at least," was the answer. "Come in. I don't know
your name, but you are welcome if you are Dick's daughter."
"I am Richard Vance's daughter," replied Jeanne with some dignity.
"Then you are certainly my niece, though what in the world you are doing
here is more than I can see. Dick is well, is he? But come in. You shall
tell me all about it later."
He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and without a glance or word
for the Orderly drew her up the brick stairs and through the hall, whose
stairway was beautiful enough for a palace with its elaborate, fantastic,
hand-wrought iron railing, and on to the door of a salon. A beautiful
woman swept graciously forward to meet them. She was very dark with
brilliant black eyes and silky hair of raven hue. Her manner was easy,
graceful and rather impassioned, and her features showed unmistakably her
French descent.
"Clarisse," said the gentleman, "this is my niece who has honored us with
a visit. I think that I have told you of my brother, Richard. She is his
daughter and is from New York City."
"Mais!" exclaimed the lady, with a laugh and speaking with a decidedly
French accent. "You surprise me! I knew not that you had a niece. Why did
you not tell me? It is one bad husband you are not to tell me of the dear
demoiselle. You are welcome, child. She resembles you, mon ami," taking
Jeanne's face between her hands and giving her a long look. "We shall be
great friends, my dear. Is it not so?"
"Yes;" Jeanne's lips quivered and her eyes filled suddenly with tears
at this unexpected greeting. Her mission had ended so differently from
the way she had anticipated;--the doubt of her loyalty and the knowledge
that her uncle was a rebel had filled her heart with misgivings so that
this welcome was almost more than she could bear. But as this gleam of
sunshine comforted her, she steeled herself against its influence and
drew herself up bravely.
"I must tell you something," she said, "before you welcome me too warmly.
I am for the Union."
She did not dare to look at them as she spoke. Her thought was that
they must know her principles before going further. She was homesick
and longing for love and tenderness, but not for one moment would she
receive them under false pretenses. A glance flashed from husband to
wife and then a clear, silvery laugh rang out as the lady caught her
to her.
"You dear little Yankee! you are too ridiculous for anything! Did you
think we would turn you out because you were not a rebel? Well, we are
rebels, my dear, but as we have to stand that odious, uncouth General
Butler of yours I think we won't mind a little thing like you. Come now,
and I will take you to your room and you shall rest. Then you shall tell
us why you have come all this way to see us at such a time."
Jeanne returned her caresses with fervor, and abandoned herself to the
delight of being fondled and petted again as only children can do who have
been deprived of endearments after being accustomed to them.
"They are nice people," she whispered as the lady left her in a cool quiet
room. "I wonder if it is wrong to like them? But it is father's brother,
and I ought to love them. Oh, I do wish they were not rebels! How can they
be traitors when they are so good!"
After she had rested her uncle's wife came for her.
"You are not weary now, are you?" she asked in her soft, caressing voice.
"You looked so fatigued, child. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Jeanne."
"Jeanne? Oh, you darling! That is French, isn't it? I did not know that
the Americans ever named their children so. Jeanne! It is delightful."
"And you are Aunt Clarisse?"
"Ma foi, Jeanne! Do not call me anything so prim. Call me 'Cherie.' Aunt
Clarisse indeed!" She laughed gaily.
"Cherie! what does it mean?" asked the girl wonderingly, gazing at the
bright face above her with delight. "It should be something brilliant
and sweet to suit you, I think. Something like rich red roses heavy with
perfume and sweetness."
"You little flatterer! And you call yourself a Yankee? No, no; Yankees
do not make speeches like that. You are French as your name is."
"But I like to be a Yankee," cried Jeanne.
"Be what you like, little one, so long as you are as sweet as you are.
But now let us go down to your uncle, after you take one little cup of
coffee. So! Now we are ready."
The two descended to the drawing-room arm in arm, and there Jeanne related
all the circumstances that led to her coming to New Orleans, concealing
nothing. Her deep love and attachment to her country glowed through the
narrative like a golden thread. The lady and gentleman listened in silence
until she related General Butler's doubt of herself, when her uncle
sprang to his feet with an exclamation.
"The scoundrel!" he cried. "To subject you to such treatment. And we are
helpless. Yes; we are helpless. Day after day some new act of injustice
comes to our ears and we must submit. But our time is coming, and I fancy
that Butler won't relish what his high handed proceedings will bring him."
"He is truly a beast without the instincts of a gentleman," cried Madame
Vance, excitedly. "That is our name for him, Jeanne. 'Beast' Butler, and
well he deserves it."
Jeanne moved uneasily.
"It wasn't pleasant," she said, "and it was a new thing to me to have my
loyalty questioned, but I think he must have to do that way. You are so
against him, you know, that if he were not careful you might rise up and
drive him out. And the Union must have New Orleans. Father says that the
rebellion can never be put down unless the Mississippi River is in our
possession."
"True for you, my little Yankee. And that is just where the Union will
fail. They did take New Orleans through the cowardice of its defenders,
but they'll never get Vicksburg. And so long as we can hold that the
Confederacy is safe. But you say that you ran past the Vicksburg
batteries. Tell that again."
Jeanne retold that portion of her story to please him.
"I am glad that you are here, child," remarked Mr. Vance when she had
finished. "But I am surprised at Brother Dick's sending you to face such
dangers. He always was an enthusiast in anything that he undertook, and
undervalued life if it stood in the way of accomplishing his object."
"Father did not know that it was so risky," said Jeanne unwilling to hear
aught against her father. "He would not have sent me if he had. Besides I
wanted to come, and I am glad that I did come, now that I have met you
and Cherie."
"Yes; I am glad for you to know her too," said Uncle Ben, his Yankee
tones sounding in flat contrast with his wife's sibilant ones. "I always
intended taking her North to see Dick's folks, but just as we were ready
to go this war came on and here we are now at the mercy of that Yankee."
"But you are a Yankee too, Uncle Ben," said Jeanne bluntly.
"Ages ago, little one. He has gotten over all that now," said Madame
Vance softly. "After you have been with us awhile you will get over your
rank Unionism too."
Jeanne shook her head decidedly.
"Dear Cherie," she said, "nothing could ever make me disloyal to my flag.
See! I always carry it with me."
She drew the flag from her bosom and waved it proudly before her. Madame
Vance gasped, and her husband's face darkened perceptibly.
"Little one, you will not carry it while here, will you? To please me,
dear, never take it out again."
"Oh, but I must," said Jeanne. "I promised my own dear mother that I would
look at it every night and I must keep my promise. I wish I could please
you, Cherie, but I cannot. But I will do this much. I will not take it out
before you any more. I ought to respect your feelings, I know."
"So much gained," murmured the lady aside to her husband. To Jeanne she
only said quietly:
"Thank you, dear. You are an amiable little thing, and you shall have my
favorite darky for your maid while you are here. I will call Snowball and
she will help you to dress for dinner."
"Snowball," echoed Jeanne.