Dear woman! She would not have gone to bed so quietly, nor have fallen
asleep so comfortably, if she had suspected the truth.
What gave her such perfect peace was the certainty she had, that
Henrietta had left the house bareheaded, with wretched, worn-out shoes
on her feet, with nothing but one petticoat, and her thin alpaca
dress on her body. Now, she was quite sure, that in such a state of
destitution, and in this cold December night, the poor young girl would
soon be weary wandering through the streets of Paris, and would be
irresistibly drawn to the waters of the Seine.
But it was by no means so. When Henrietta was alone, after the departure
of Papa Ravinet, she had only become confirmed in her determination to
trust in him blindly: she had even forborne to think it over, as she
had, humanly speaking, no other choice on earth. Thus, after having
received Mrs. Chevassat’s visit, and after having played the part
assigned to her by the old dealer, she rose, and, although quite
exhausted yet, took her place at the window to watch for the proper
time. Four o’clock struck; and, as it was growing dark, the concierge
came out, with a light in his hand, and went up the big staircase to
light the lamps.
“Now is the time!” she said to herself.
And casting a last look at this wretched room, where she had suffered so
much, and wept so much, and where she had expected to die, she slipped
out. The back stairs were quite dark, and thus she was not recognized
by two persons whom she met. The court was deserted, and the concierge’s
room locked. She crossed the hall, and at one bound was in the street.
Some forty paces to the left she could see the place where Papa Ravinet
was waiting for her in his cab. She ran there, got in; and the driver,
who had received his instructions, whipped his horses as soon as he
heard the door shut.
“And now, sir,” she began, “where do you take me?”
By the light of the gas in the stores, which from time to time lighted
up the interior of the carriage, she could see the features of her
neighbor. He looked at her with manifest satisfaction; and a smile of
friendly malice played upon his lips.
“Ah!” he replied, “that is a great secret. But you will know soon, for
the man drives well.”
The poor horses went, indeed, as fast as if the dollar which the driver
had received had infused the noble blood of the fastest racer into their
veins. They drove down the whole long street at a furious rate, turned
to the right, and, after many more turns, stopped at last before a house
of modest appearance. Lightly and promptly, like a sheriff’s clerk, Papa
Ravinet jumped out; and, having aided Henrietta to alight, he offered
her his arm, and drew her into the house, saying,--
“You will see what a surprise I have in store for you.”
In the third story the old man stopped; and, drawing a key from his
pocket, he opened the door which faced the staircase. And, before she
had time to consider, Henrietta found herself gently pushed into a small
sitting-room, where a middle-aged lady was embroidering at a frame by
the light of a large copper lamp.
“Dear sister,” said Papa Ravinet, still in the door, “here is the young
lady of whom I spoke to you, and who does us the honor to accept our
hospitality.”
Slowly the elderly lady put her needle into the canvas, pushed back the
frame, and rose.
She seemed to be about fifty years old, and must have been beautiful
formerly. But age and sorrow had blanched her hair, and furrowed her
face; and the habit of silence and meditation seemed to have sealed her
lips forever. Her stern countenance, nevertheless, expressed kindliness.
She was dressed in black; and her costume betrayed a lady from a
provincial town.
“You are welcome, madam,” she said in a grave voice. “You will find in
our modest home that peace and that sympathy which you need.”
In the meantime, Papa Ravinet had come forward; and, bowing to
Henrietta, he said,--
“I beg to present to you Mrs. Bertolle, my dearly beloved sister Mary, a
widow, and a saint, who has devoted herself to her brother, and who has
sacrificed to him every thing,--her fortune, her peace, and her life.”
Ah! there was no mistaking the look with which the old man caressed the
old lady: he worshipped her. But she interrupted him, as if embarrassed
by his praise, saying,--
“You have told me so late, Anthony, that I have not been able to attend
to all of your orders. But the young lady’s room is ready, and if you
choose”--
“Yes, we must show her the way.”
The old lady having taken the lamp, after removing the screen, opened a
door which led from the parlor directly into a small, modestly furnished
room, which shone with exquisite tidiness, and which exhaled that fresh
odor of lavender so dear to all housekeepers from the country. The
mirrors and the furniture all glistened alike in the bright fire on the
hearth; and the curtains were as white as snow.
At one glance the old dealer had taken in every thing; and, after a
smile of gratitude addressed to his sister, he said to Henrietta,--
“This is your room, madam.”
The poor girl, all overcome, sought in vain for words to express her
gratitude. The old lady did not give her time. She showed her, spread
out on the bed, petticoats, white linen, stockings, a warm dressing-
wrapper of gray flannel with blue flowers, and at the foot a pair of
slippers.
“This will answer for a change to-night, madam,” she said. “I have
provided what was most pressing; to-morrow we will see about the rest.”
Big tears, tears of happiness and gratitude, this time, rolled down
Henrietta’s pale cheeks. Oh, indeed! this was a surprise, and a
delicious one, which the ingenious foresight of her new friend had
prepared for her.
“Ah, you are so kind!” she said, giving her hands to brother and
sister--“you are so kind! How can I ever repay what you are doing for
me?”