THE FAUBOURG.
At the toot of the horn, the porte cochère of the Hotel d'Ochtè was
thrown open by a venerable porter and the taxi containing Mrs. Brown and
the girls swept into the court in great style. How beautiful it was! The
soft color of the stone walls blended with the formal box bushes and
tubs of oleanders; here and there a wrought-iron lantern projected from
the pilasters; rows of snub-nosed caryatides held up little balconies,
also of wrought iron, of the most delicate design and workmanship. Judy
held her breath at the effect of line and color and wondered if she
would ever know the inmates well enough to be allowed to make a picture
of the court.
They were met in the hall by the most gracious and least formal of
hostesses and taken immediately to her boudoir to remove their wraps.
"And this is Miss Julia Kean, the friend of my cousin, as the easy
lessons in French put it. I am afraid I shall just have to call you
Judy, my dear, and not start out trying to 'miss' you. And Molly in my
own blue! Ah, child, for the first time in my life I tremble for the
affections of my Jean! There is something about the combination of that
particular blue with red hair that goes to his head. Milly, you are
beautiful! How proud I am of my kin!" And the marchioness chattered on,
leading them down a long, dim hall, hung with tapestries and armor, to
the library.
"We live in our library. It is so much cosier than the great salon and
we feel more at home in the smaller room; and here we can talk without
having to shout across space."
The door was opened at their approach by Philippe who bowed low as they
entered and stood aside, while they were introduced to his father, the
Marquis d'Ochtè.
The marquis was a very interesting-looking man, tall for a Frenchman,
with merry brown eyes and a black, closely cut, pointed beard. His hair
was iron gray, thick and rather bushy. His manner was very cordial and
all of the ladies were secretly relieved to find that he spoke English
fluently, if with an accent.
Philippe was a handsomer man than his father, having that rare
combination of coloring: dark eyes and golden hair. He wore a pointed
beard, too, as is the almost invariable custom of Frenchmen; his eye was
as merry as his father's and he had inherited his mother's strong chin,
big honest mouth and perfect teeth. The d'Ochtè family certainly made a
wonderfully fine looking trio. The marchioness was radiant in black
velvet and diamonds, her neck and arms beautiful and white, her abundant
hair parted in the middle and done in a loose knot on her neck. She was
a very distinguished looking woman and worthy to take her place with
royalty as well as with the nobility. Years had touched her but lightly;
but the eternal youth in her heart, as in that of Mrs. Brown, was what
gave her the charm of expression and manner.
Cordial relations were established immediately between old and young.
"There is nothing like a good American handshake to make strangers
acquainted," said the host, looking admiringly at his wife's cousins and
their attractive companion, Judy, who in spite of Mrs. Pace's fears that
she might get herself up in "paint rags," was most artistically gowned
in old-rose messaline. "It is more pleasure than I can express to meet
the cousins of my Sara; also Mademoiselle Kean, of whom we have heard
much from the respected Madame Pace," he added with a mischievous
twinkle.
"Heavens, how must I behave if Mrs. Pace has already given me a
character?" exclaimed Judy. "Must I be as she says I am, or must I be as
she wants me to be?"
"Be yourself, and you will be as we want you," said the marchioness,
kindly. "Jean and Philippe do not have the chance to meet many American
girls and they do not, as a rule, care to meet Henny's boarders, who are
usually dry-as-dust old maids, especially the ones Henny recommends."
"Oh, please don't change yourselves, any of you," begged Philippe in a
voice and accent so southern that it was amusing coming from a veritable
Frenchman. "All my life, I have longed to meet some of my cousins and to
hear more of the Kentucky stories, and of Chatsworth and the Carmichael
place. Does Cousin Sarah Carmichael, Mrs. Clay, I believe she is now,
still take the biggest piece of cake, and are the beech trees as
beautiful as they were when my mother used to play under them with you,
Cousin Mildred?"
"Oh, Philippe, you should not tell tales out of school! Sarah is Milly's
sister and she might not like the cake reminiscences. Sarah was mighty
grabby, though, wasn't she, Milly? I am afraid she will never forgive me
for getting the legacy from Aunt Sarah Carmichael. You see we were both
named for her and Sarah naturally expected an equal division if not the
'biggest piece of cake,' and when the whole fifty thousand came to me,
it was a sad blow to Sarah. But she was quite comfortable and Jean and I
were the needy members of the family, as far as money went. That was all
we did need as we had everything else," and the marchioness laid her
hand lightly on her husband's bushy hair whence he gently drew it down
to his cheek.
Mrs. Brown could not help smiling over Sister Clay and the big piece of
cake. She remembered how the two Sarahs had always been at daggers
drawn. Her sister was much older than Sally Bolling and had always been
critical of the lively girl who had repaid her by laughing at her and
cracking jokes at her expense.
"Yes indeed, Philippe, the beeches are even more beautiful having had
some years since then to grow. Trees are one of the things that improve
with age. I hope you will come to Kentucky and make us a long visit and
see all of your kin and their homes," said Mrs. Brown cordially.
"That would be fine, if the mother and father could come, too. You don't
know how beautiful your southern tongue sounds to me, Cousin Mildred.
You say 'kin' just as my mother does and as I do. I am laughed at by my
English friends for my way of speaking their language, but I would not
give up my southern accent for worlds."
Dinner was announced, interrupting Philippe, and they made their way to
the _salle a manger_. The marquis gave his arm to Mrs. Brown; Judy fell
to the share of the handsome young son; and the marchioness put her arm
affectionately around Molly's waist.
"My dear," she said, "having you with us is a pleasure, indeed. I wish I
had a daughter just like you. I think your mother might spare you to me.
She has two other daughters and four sons. That is too much for any
woman."
"You had better not say that to mother," laughed Molly. "The only time I
ever saw her lose her temper with Aunt Clay, who would try the patience
of a saint, was when Aunt Clay intimated that it would be much more
economical if there had been only half of us, three children and a half
instead of seven. I was a tiny little girl, but I can remember how I
crawled under the table I was so scared. I had never seen mother get
really mad before and she turned on Aunt Clay in such a rage that I felt
sorry for her. You know it must have been pretty bad if I felt sorry for
Aunt Clay, for she is the one person in the world I can't like."
"Molly, we are alike in more ways than one! She is an abomination unto
me! Sarah Clay made my childhood unhappy. You see, I had no regular home
as my mother and I were very poor. We spent much of our time visiting
and Cousin George Carmichael, your grandfather, was goodness itself to
us. The Carmichael place was more like home than any other to me. I
simply loved it and spent many happy hours playing with your dear
mother; but Sarah never lost a chance to rub it in on me that I was in a
measure a dependent. As a child it would cut me to the quick; but as I
got older and made my visits at Cousin George's, I would retaliate by
making game of my older cousin; and no one can abide being made fun of.
I tell you I gave her tit for tat and usually came out ahead. But we
must stop this whispering. Your mother can't stand any criticism of her
sister. Some day we can get together and say all the mean things we've a
mind to about old Sarah!" Then the marchioness was transformed in the
twinkling of an eye from the naughty Sally Boiling to the gracious
hostess, seeing that her guests were seated and leading the conversation
into the most agreeable channels.
The dinner was perfect, every detail in absolute taste, served
beautifully but with an elegant simplicity. Molly made mental notes on
the sauce with the fish, trying to find out without asking what was in
it; and then the gravy with the filet of beef occupied her attention.
Such a wonderful gravy with a character all its own. She remembered what
Edwin Green had told her of the Frenchman who was visiting America. When
asked his impressions of the country, he had said: "America is a country
with a thousand different religions and one sauce." She wondered what
Miss Morse would think of this gravy, and smiled as she recalled the
lecture on gravies delivered by that highly educated teacher of domestic
science and the smooth, perfect specimen she demonstrated, with no more
flavor than Miss Morse herself.
"What is the little joke my Cousin Mollee is having all to herself,"
asked the marquis.
Molly frankly confessed what had made her smile, since her cousin wanted
to know, and of course in her confession praise of the gravy had to be
included.
"Brava, brava," and the Marquis d'Ochtè clapped his hands. "She is like
my Sara in all ways. She is also a discriminator in foods. This gravy,
my dear Mademoiselle, is the _chef d'oeuvre_ of my chef. You notice
the butler, Jules, has left the room. _Pourquoi_ does he go? He cannot
wait to tell Gaston, the chef, that Madame's cousin from across the seas
has been so gracious as to praise his work of art. If you will turn ever
so little you will see the happy face of Gaston peeping in to view the
beautiful young lady."
Molly turned, and sure enough, tip-toeing to see over the shoulder of
Jules the butler, was Gaston, his face radiant.
"Molly is a wonderful cook herself," said Judy. "She has an instinct for
food that is truly remarkable. At college an invitation to a Molly Brown
spread was looked upon with greater reverence than being asked to have
tea with the President. But has she not learned from Aunt Mary, that
dear old colored woman who cooks like an angel? We trembled for fear
that the domestic science teacher would ruin Molly's touch and make her
too academic, but I hope it hasn't."
"Dear Aunt Mary, I had almost forgotten her!" exclaimed the marchioness.
"Don't tell me you can make Aunt Mary's spoon corn bread, Molly! If you
can, I'll make the Bents move out of their studio to-morrow so you can
move in. And I'll come to live with you and get you to make me some for
every meal until all the cornmeal to be purchased at the American
grocers' is used up!"
"Indeed she can, Sally, and many things besides. Aunt Mary has initiated
her into all the secrets of her trade," said Mrs. Brown. "I remember so
well hearing the old woman say to Molly, when she was a little girl, 'Ef
you wan' ter know how ter make bread, you have ter begin at de
beginnin'. Now yeast is de fust an' maindest thing and tater yeast is
the onliest kin' fit ter use, an' you can't git taters 'thout diggin'
'em; so fer the fust step, s'pose you go an' dig some taters.' So, you
see, my Molly can do it all."
"Oh, how I love to hear about Aunt Mary!" sighed Philippe. "Am I to have
some of this ambrosial bread, too, Cousin Molly?"
"Yes, indeed, but I am afraid the meal we get in Paris will not be
right. Tell us, Cousin Sally, about the studio in the Rue Brea. Can we
get it? We have had so many things to talk about, we have not asked you
about it."
"The Bents expect to go to Italy for six months and are very much
pleased to have good tenants in their absence. I am going to take you
and your mother and Miss Kean, if she can come, to see the place
to-morrow morning. The rent is reasonable, ridiculously cheap even, one
hundred and twenty-five francs a month."
Mrs. Brown's face fell at the rental named by her cousin. The
marchioness saw it and gave a merry laugh. "I know just what you are
doing, Milly; you are thinking in dollars. I said a hundred and
twenty-five _francs_; that is only twenty-five dollars."
"Oh, how silly I am! I did think you meant dollars. Of course, that is
cheap and well within our means. We are so grateful to you, Sally, and I
am sure it will suit," said Mrs. Brown, blushing at her mistake, which
she need not have done as it is no easy matter to think in foreign
money.
The dinner went gaily on. Molly and Judy told Philippe all about
Wellington College, and he in turn had much to tell them of Nancy, where
he had been studying forestry after his course at the Sorbonne. The
marquis and marchioness had many questions to ask Mrs. Brown of the
relatives in Kentucky. The talk was interesting and delightful and they
felt as though they had known one another always.
They lingered over their coffee and cheese until the butler announced
that the limousine was at the door ready to take them to the Opera.
There was a general move for wraps and gloves, but Philippe stopped his
mother long enough to embrace her and whisper in her ear: "Both of them
are jewels and I can't tell which one is the more precious"; and Molly
and Judy, unconscious of their being rivals, hugged each other in Cousin
Sally's boudoir and said in chorus: "What an Adonis!"