MARDI-GRAS
One morning—it was the day before Mardi-Gras—when Lady Jane entered
Pepsie’s room, instead of finding her friend engaged in her usual
occupation, the table was cleared of all that pertained to business,
and on it was spread a quantity of pink cambric, which Pepsie was
measuring and snipping with great gravity.
“Oh, Pepsie, what are you making?” cried Lady Jane, greatly surprised
at this display of finery.
“It’s a domino,” replied Pepsie curtly, her mouth full of pins.
“A domino, a domino,” repeated Lady Jane. “What’s a domino? I never saw
one.”
“Of course, you never saw one, because you never saw a Mardi-Gras,”
said Pepsie, removing the pins, and smiling to herself as she smoothed
the pattern on the cloth.
“Mardi-gras! Is it for Mardi-gras?” asked Lady Jane eagerly. “You might
tell me all about it. I don’t know what it’s for,” she added, much
puzzled, and somewhat annoyed at Pepsie’s air of secrecy.
“Well, it’s for some one to wear, Mardi-Gras,” replied Pepsie, still
smiling serenely, and with an exasperating air of mystery.
“Oh, Pepsie—who, _who_ is it for?” cried Lady Jane, pressing close, and
putting both arms around her friend’s neck; “tell me, please, do! If
it’s a secret I won’t tell.”
“Oh, it’s for a little girl I know,” said Pepsie, cutting and slashing
the cambric with the greatest indifference, and evidently bent on
keeping her own counsel.
Lady Jane stood still for a moment, letting her arms fall from Pepsie’s
neck. Her face was downcast, and something like a tear shone on her
lashes; then, a little slowly and thoughtfully, she climbed into her
chair on the other side of the table, and, leaning on her elbows,
watched the absorbed Pepsie silently.
Pepsie pinned, and snipped, and smoothed, all the while smiling with
that little air of unconcern which so puzzled the child. Presently,
without looking up, she said:
“Can’t you guess, Lady, who it’s for?”
“Isn’t it for Sophie Paichoux?” ventured Lady Jane.
“No, no,” said Pepsie decidedly; “the one I mean it for isn’t any
relation to me.”
“Then, I don’t know any other little girl. Oh, Pepsie, I can’t guess.”
“Why, you dear, stupid, little goose!” cried Pepsie, laughing aloud.
“Oh, Pepsie. It isn’t! is it?” and Lady Jane’s eyes shone like stars,
and her face broke into a radiant smile. “Do you mean it for me?
Really, do you, Pepsie?”
“Why, certainly. Who do you think I’d make it for, if not for you?”
“Oh, you dear, darling Pepsie! But why didn’t you say so just at first?
Why—why did you make me,” she hesitated for a word, and then added,
“why did you make me—jealous?”
“I only wanted to tease you a little,” laughed Pepsie. “I wanted to see
if you’d guess right off. I thought you’d know right away that I didn’t
love any one else well enough to make a domino for her, and I wanted to
try you, that was all.”
This rather ambiguous explanation was quite satisfactory, and after
a great many caresses Pepsie went on to tell that Tante Modeste had
been there very early, and that she had invited Lady Jane to go in her
milk-cart, that afternoon, up on Canal Street to see the King of the
Carnival arrive. The cans were to be taken out of the cart, and an
extra seat was to be put in, so that all the young ones could take part
in the glorious spectacle.
Then Pepsie waited for Lady Jane to get her breath before she
finished telling her of Tante Modeste’s plans for the next day, the
long-looked-for Mardi-gras.
The little Paichoux wanted Lady Jane to see everything; by some means
she must take an active part in the festivities; she must be on Canal
Street not as a spectator, but as an actor in the gay scene.
“Children don’t enjoy it half as well, at least mine don’t,” said Tante
Modeste, “if they’re cooped up in a cart, or on a gallery, so the best
way is to put a domino on them, and turn them in with the crowd.”
“But I’m afraid for Lady,” demurred Pepsie, “she might get frightened
in such a crowd, or she might get lost.”
“You needn’t be afraid of that; Tiburce is going to take care of my
young ones, and I’ve told him that he must hold fast to the child all
the time. Then, Tite can go too; I’ve got an old domino that’ll do for
her, and she can keep the child’s hand fast on the other side. If they
keep together, there’s no danger.”
“But perhaps Madame Jozain won’t allow her to go on Canal Street.”
“Yes, she will, she’ll be glad to get rid of the care of the child. I
just met her coming from market, she had a cream cheese for the little
one. I guess she’s pretty good to her, when it doesn’t put her out. She
says Madame Hortense, the milliner, on Canal Street, is an old friend
of hers, and she’s invited her to come and sit on her gallery and see
the show, and there’s no room for children, so she’ll be very glad to
have her niece taken care of, and it’s so good of me, and all that. Oh
dear, dear! I can’t like that woman. I may be wrong, but she’s a dose I
can’t swallow,” and Tante Modeste shrugged her shoulders and laughed.
“But Lady’s got no domino,” said Pepsie ruefully, “and I’m afraid
Madame Jozain won’t make her one.”
“Never mind saying anything to her about it. Here’s two bits. Send Tite
for some cambric, and I’ll cut you a pattern in a minute. I’ve made so
many I know all about it, and, my dear, you can sew it up through the
day. Have her ready by nine o’clock. I’ll be here by nine. I’m going to
take them all up in the cart and turn them out, and they can come back
to me when they’re tired.”
In this way Tante Modeste surmounted all difficulties, and the next
morning Lady Jane, completely enveloped in a little pink domino, with
a tiny pink mask carefully fastened over her rosy face, and her blue
eyes wide with delight and wonder sparkling through the two holes, was
lifted into the milk cart with the brood of little Paichoux, and with
many good-byes to poor forlorn Pepsie and to Tony, who was standing
dejectedly on one leg, the happy child was rattled away in the bright
sunlight, through the merry, noisy crowd, to that center of every
delight, Canal Street, on Mardi-gras.
There was no room for Tite Souris in the cart, so that dusky maiden,
arrayed in the colors of a demon of darkness, an old red domino with
black, bat-like wings, was obliged to take herself to the rendezvous,
near the Clay statue, by whatever means of locomotion she could
command. When the cart was passing Rue Royale, there was Tite in her
uncanny disguise, flapping her black wings, and scuttling along as
fast as her thin legs would carry her.
At last the excited party in the milk cart and the model for a
diabolical flying machine were together under Tante Modeste’s
severe scrutiny, listening with much-divided attention to her final
instructions.
“Tiburce, attend to what I tell you,” she said impressively; “you are
the eldest of the party, and you must take care of the little ones,
especially of Lady Jane; keep her hand in yours all the time, mind what
I say—don’t let go of her. And you, Tite, keep on the other side and
hold her hand fast. Sophie, you can go in front with the two smallest,
and the others can follow behind. Now keep together, and go along
decently, no running or racketing on the street, and as soon as the
procession passes, you had better come back to me. You will be tired
and ready to go home. And Tite, remember what Miss Pepsie told you
about Miss Lady. If you let anything happen to her, you’d better go and
drown yourself.”
Tite, with her wings poised for flight, promised everything, even to
drowning herself if necessary; and before Tante Modeste had climbed
into her cart the whole brood had disappeared amongst the motley crowd.
At first, Lady Jane was a little frightened at the noise and confusion;
but she had a brave little heart, and clung tightly to Tiburce on one
side and Tite on the other. In a few moments she was quite reassured
and as happy as any of the merry little imps around her.
It was delightful; she seemed to be carried along in a stream of
riotous life, all disguised and decorated to suit their individual
fancies. There were demons and angels, clowns and monks, imps and
fairies, animals and birds, fish and insects—in fact, everything that
the richest imagination could devise.
At first, Tite Souris ambled along quite decorously, making now and
then a little essay at flying with her one free wing, which gave
her a curious one-sided appearance, provoking much mirth among the
little Paichoux; but at length restraint became irksome, and finally
impossible. She could bear it no longer, even if she died for it.
Ignoring all her promises, and the awful reckoning in store for her,
with one bound for freedom she tore herself from Lady Jane’s clinging
hand and, flapping her hideous wings, plunged into the crowd, and
was instantly swallowed up in the vortex of humanity that whirled
everywhere.
The procession was coming, the crowd grew very dense, and they were
pulled, and pushed, and jostled; but still Tiburce, who was a strong,
courageous boy, held his ground, and landed Lady Jane on a window-sill,
where she could have a good view. The other Paichoux, under the
generalship of Sophie, came up to form a guard, and so, in a very
secure and comfortable position, in spite of Tite’s desertion Lady Jane
saw the procession of King Rex, and his royal household.
When Tiburce told her that the beautiful Bœuf gras, decorated so gaily
with flowers and ribbons, would be killed and eaten afterward, she
almost shed tears, and when he further informed her that King Rex was
no King at all, only a citizen dressed as a King in satin and velvet,
and feathers, she doubted it, and still clung to the illusion that
he must sit always on a throne, and wear a crown, according to the
traditions of Mr. Gex.
Now that the procession was over, all might have gone well if Tiburce
had held out as he began; but alas! in an evil moment, he yielded to
temptation and fell.
They were on their way back to Tante Modeste, quite satisfied with all
they had seen, when they came upon a crowd gathered around the door
of a fashionable club. From the balcony above a party of young men,
who were more generous than wise, were throwing small change, dimes
and nickels, into the crowd, that the rabble might scramble for them;
and there right in the midst of the seething mass was Tite Souris, her
domino hanging in rags, her wings gone, and her whole appearance very
dilapidated and disorderly; but the demon of greed was gleaming in her
eyes, and her teeth were showing in a fierce, white line, while she
plunged and struggled and battled for the root of all evil.
Tiburce’s first intention was to make a detour of the crowd; but
just as he was about to do so the gleam of a dime on the edge of the
sidewalk caught his eye, and, overcome by the spirit of avarice, he
forgot everything, and dropped Lady Jane’s hand to make a dive for it.
Lady Jane never knew how it happened, but in an instant she was whirled
away from the Paichoux, swept on with the crowd that a policeman was
driving before him, and carried she knew not where.
At first she ran hither and thither, seizing upon every domino that
bore the least resemblance to her companions, and calling Tiburce,
Sophie, Nanette, in heartrending tones, until quite exhausted she sank
down in a doorway, and watched the crowd surge past her.