One afternoon as Elsie and Antoine were filling the little house with
the notes of a Hungarian battle song, in which violin, organ, voice, and
whistle played prominent parts, Margaret was startled by the sudden
opening of the outer door, and the appearance on the threshold of a
richly-dressed lady, who with a deprecating gesture which the carnival
of sound alone permitted, undertook to explain her unannounced presence.
Margaret stepped feebly across the room and hushed the players as the
lady said laughingly:
“I rapped several times, but was unable to make myself heard, and
venturing upon the freedom of long acquaintance, I opened the door. I
think I must have made a mistake. I thought I was in the house of
Lizzette Minaud.”
“You are,” said Margaret. “Be seated and we will call her.”
The moment Lizzette saw her caller she cried in the freedom of her
native tongue: “Madam Mason! Comment cela va-t-il, aujourdhui?”
“Assez bien. Et-vous?” was the answer in the same tongue.
Lizzette hesitated a moment and then said by way of explanation: “Zese
friends of mine zay speak ze French wiz me.”
“Ah!” and the lady glanced somewhat superciliously at Margaret and
Elsie. “It is immaterial to me which tongue we use. I have only a few
moments to spare at best. I was not aware, Lizzette, that you were
musical.”
“Eh bien, eet ees only Miss Elsie and Antoine. I haf not ze time.”
“I should suppose not,” said the lady, still using the French tongue, in
the evident belief that it might cover some slight impertinences of
question and manner.
“Where did they learn that battle song they were playing as I came in?”
“Zey learn zemselves,” answered Lizzette. “Zey haf un grand penchant for
music, and eet ees bread and meat to Antoine.”
“Humph! Who are these girls?”
The blood mounted to Lizzette’s face, but restraining herself she said
with a quiet dignity, that in the little market woman was evidently
vastly amusing to Mrs. Mason, “Zey are my guests.”
Mrs. Mason laughed. “Come, Lizzette——” she began, but her words were
interrupted by a simultaneous movement on the part of Margaret and
Elsie. Margaret arose from her chair, and Elsie as quickly offered her
arm, and the two were on the point of leaving the room when they were
arrested by a whisper from Antoine, “Take me too. I can’t stay here.”
Elsie put her hand to Antoine’s chair, and in a profound silence the
“funeral procession,” as Elsie called it, marched out of the room.
“Come, come, Lizzette,” exclaimed Mrs. Mason in English, when the door
had closed. “I meant no offence, of course. You seem to have acquired an
unusual dignity since I last saw you.”
“For zose who deserve it, oui; for Lizzette Minaud, non. I know ze
ladies when I see zem, if so be zey are in calico or silk.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” replied Mrs. Mason somewhat impatiently.
“Tell me who they are, anyway, and how they happen to be with you.”
“Helen Mason,” said Lizzette a little sternly, “if so be I did not know
you nearly ze whole of your life, I nevair tell you von leetle word. But
since I think vous avez ze heart under zat spoiled exterieur, I vill
tell you ze story.”
Mrs. Mason laughed.
“The privilege of an old friend, Lizzette, is sometimes terribly abused;
but I forgive you because of my impatience to hear this wonderful story.
You’ve really aroused my curiosity.”
With all the eloquence of eye, voice, and gesture so characteristic of
the French, Lizzette gave the details of Margaret’s struggles and
misfortunes. The barren story lost nothing under the glow of Lizzette’s
imagination and fertile tongue, and when she finished with a glowing
peroration on the virtues of the little family, Mrs. Mason’s eyes
required several applications of a dainty bit of embroidered gauze
before they were restored to their pristine brightness.
“Very affecting indeed,” she declared. “It is singular how hard some
people’s lives have to be, but it is fate, I suppose.” Mrs. Mason was
evidently quite resigned to fate. “I declare,” she exclaimed, “listening
to the story of the trials of these people, I had nearly forgotten my
own. I am in the deepest trouble, Lizzette, and of course I had to come
to you for help just as I used to do.”
“Tu as l’air triste,” laughed Lizzette.
“Why, I am in despair. You remember that expensive Frenchman I took such
pains to import for my kitchen a year ago, and who was such a splendid
cook? Not quite equal to you, of course, Lizzette—nobody ever has been.
Well, what did the beast do but get so drunk yesterday that he hasn’t
prepared a meal since and we are nearly starved!”
“Wiz all zose servants in ze house?” asked Lizzette incredulously.
“Oh, as for that, the maids have succeeded in sending up something, but
then you know how exasperating it is to have meals so poorly served.
Dear me! he was such a model on sauces!” And a sigh that was evidently
drawn from the depths of her heart followed the plaintive ejaculation.
“Was? Ou est il?”
“Oh, Mr. Mason discharged him this morning. You know how rigid he is
about drunkenness. I begged Mr. Mason on my knees to let me keep Joseph
another month, anyway; for Herbert—your Herbert, you know, Lizzette—is
coming home from Europe, and I’ve no end of dinners planned for him, and
no cook in the house. What am I to do, Lizzette? Can’t you come to me
just for a month, Lizzette? I will pay you well if you will, and Antoine
can stay here with these girls. Oh, do come, there’s a dear, good
Lizzette.”
Mrs. Mason was gently patting Lizzette’s brown hand with one of her own
daintily gloved ones. Lizzette pondered a moment. “Vot you pay Joseph?”
“An enormous sum,” answered Mrs. Mason, coloring. “He had such a
reputation, you know, and one always has to pay for reputation!”
“Ah!”
The ejaculation was so dry that Mrs. Mason hastened to add: “But of
course I shall not let money stand between us.”
Lizzette ruminated a little: “Ees eet worth to you ze twenty dollars a
week?”
“It is truly,” she answered, feeling a sense of relief that it was not
Joseph’s usual weekly stipend of one hundred dollars.
“Eh bien!” said Lizzette, “I cannot go.”
“Lizzette, you break my heart. Why not, pray?”
“Because everysing go to ze waste here; mais, I haf ze plan for you. I
find you une cuisinière a cet prix.”
“But ordinary cooks, you know, Lizzette, cannot earn more than five or
six dollars a week.”
“I know; mais, zis von ees so très-bonne, I myself teach her. She lack
ze experience, zat ees all. Elle à le genie sublime!”
“That may be; but such wages are too large to pay inexperience. I think
you ought to get her cheaper.”
“Ees eet not,” asked Lizzette with a sly twinkle in her eyes, “zat le
prix ees much sheaper zan you obtain Joseph?”
“Oh, of course; but Joseph was a noted chef.”
“Haf you not ze grand need of a cook?”
“Certainly.”
“Zen if I take l’avantage de votre need to obtain le bon prix for ze
work zat ees very good _wizout_ ze reputation, I only follow ze well
known business principle: one zat Monsieur Mason take l’avantage of
every day.”
“Lizzette, you are too much for me. Where is your paragon?”
“Here. C’est Elsie.”
“What, that young girl? You astonish me. She cannot be capable; besides,
I thought you considered her a lady.”
“Bah! Ze work ees not ze lady any more zan your robe de soie ees ze
lady. Ven I say ‘lady’ I mean ze instinct, ze character, ze soul, ze
nature. She cannot harm zat by working dans le cuisine. My word for it,
you will nevair find Elsie Murchison ze trespasser of her place, if so
be it ees in your kitchen or in your salon.”
“Small likelihood of the latter! Go on, Lizzette—you are really
eloquent.”
“Mais, I feel ze indignation at ze misapprehension of your world ofer ze
name of lady. In my leetle world eet means somesing besides ze airs and
ze graces et l’argent.”
“Your world and mine won’t quarrel over it much, I fancy,” said Mrs.
Mason composedly. “It seems to me you’ve grown into a fierce little
radical since you compounded such delectable dishes in mamma’s kitchen;
but as to the capability of that young thing, I doubt it much.”
“I do not, for she learn so fast; and ven I haf vonce taken her through
ze maison and she know ze duties, you vill be surprised at ze ease she
do zem. Besides, ze grand sing ees ze buying, and I vill do zat until
she sall haf learned. Je vous le promets a treasure in Elsie, and you
vill nevair be sorry zat Lizzette Minaud say so.”
“I never have been sorry that I took any advice of yours. But how do you
know your marvel will accept?”
“Nous verrons! Elsie!” called Lizzette, stepping to the kitchen door.
“Sit down,” she added, as Elsie presented herself. “Madam Mason haf ze
offer to make to you,” and thereupon Lizzette detailed the proposition
that had just been under discussion.
Elsie’s eyes grew big with wonder as she listened to Lizzette. “I am
afraid I am not equal to it,” she faltered.
“Lizzette vouches for you,” said Mrs. Mason. “I have always found her
advice good.”
Elsie did not answer at once. A tide of thought was sweeping over her.
The opportunity was like a tale from fairy land in the riches it seemed
to offer; but how could she live under the domination of that
supercilious woman she _knew_ she should hate? But Margaret, Gilbert,
Antoine—how much she could do for all of them! Courage! Now was the time
to prove herself. The way had been opened; there could not be, must not
be any shrinking back.
“Very well,” she answered simply. “I am willing to make the trial.”
“To-morrow, then,” said Mrs. Mason, rising, “you will begin under
Lizzette’s management. She knows my house as well as her own. At ten
o’clock in the morning I shall be prepared to receive you. Good-evening,
Lizzette and—Elsie.”
With a scarcely perceptible nod Mrs. Mason hastened out to her carriage.
When the door had closed Lizzette grasped Elsie by the shoulders and
began an impromptu chaussée up and down the room.
“C’est très-bon! C’est très-bon!” she cried. “I prove ze sharper zat
time; mais, le defaut ees in ze grand cause of humanity.”
“I am frightened to death, Lizzette,” said Elsie.
“Chut! Helen Mason ees only la femme ordinaire, and reech! Helas!
l’argent zat petite femme frow to ze winds. Lizzette haf catch some for
you, anyway.”
Margaret opened the door just then and the three sat down to discuss the
important move.
“Honestly, Lizzette, now, do you think I can manage their great dinners?
Why, I haven’t the least idea how to plan any work beyond my own little
kitchen.”
“Vraiment, c’est une bagatelle ven you haf got ze hang of sings. Nefer
you fear. I take you under my wing for three, four days and zen we vill
see! Ze chance was so très-bon to help Margaret——”
“And all of us,” interrupted Elsie softly.
“Oui; ze pomme de terre and ze sel go by ze board now, eh, Elsie?”
“O Lizzette, what a good friend you have been!” exclaimed Margaret.
“Bah! eet ees only selfishness. I want myself some good sings to eat.
Now, Elsie, I gif you my recipes; vous savez zat you read zem wiz care
and learn zem by heart. Sans doubte, you exercise your skill to ze charm
of madam.”
“Tell us about her.”
“Zare ees but leetle to tell. I vork in ze kitchen de sa mère zese many
year. I make ze good friends of Helen and Herbeart—ah, Herbeart, mon
cher ami, il est un galant homme, and I knows ze folly of Helen like ze
book. She ees vain and haughty; mais, her heart ees not mèchante. You
vill grow into ze good friends some time.”
“I don’t expect that,” said Elsie. “All I ask is not to be tyrannized
over. I am conservative enough to recognize the gulf society places
between us, and I shall endeavor to keep to my side of the fence.”
“Vous avez raison. Still, I make ze meestake eef Helen Mason do not
herself some time break down ze barrier. Zare are some sings zat vill
not be made to see de fausses idées de grandeur.”
“It is not wise ever to hope for such a thing,” said Margaret, fearful
that Elsie might be carried away by Lizzette’s volatile spirits. “We
have our work to do in our own sphere, and we know that we can achieve
all that is in us by working faithfully within our own lines. If we hope
for recognition outside of these lines, it will but breed disappointment
and discontent.”
“Have no fear for me, my sweet sister,” replied Elsie with sparkling
eyes. “I shall never yearn for a world greater than that of our own
little quintette, wherein Lizzette, Gilbert, and I furnish the brawn and
_capital_—I feel like a bloated bondholder already—and Antoine and
Margaret represent the culture. But to stop nonsense and come down to
practical things. Since I am to represent the capital of our community,
I must have the chief direction of affairs, otherwise behold in me ‘the
iron hand,’ etc. What are we to do with our three-years’ lease of our
desolate home?”
“Eef ze agents vill not rebuild, Margaret and Gilbeart sall stay wiz me
and so still work ze land.”
“No,” said Margaret decisively. “The hardest part of this apparent good
fortune that has befallen Elsie is that it takes her from home. I cannot
endure it long, and if Elsie remains with Mrs. Mason I shall take rooms
in the city as near as I can find them, and Gilbert must bring her to us
every evening. We must not break the home ties.”
“That will be glorious,” exclaimed Elsie.
“Non,” said Lizzette, tears springing to her eyes. “Eet vill bring ze
heart break to Antoine and Lizzette Minaud.”
“No, no,” said Margaret and Elsie together, “you shall come to us every
day after market hours, and Antoine can be with us two-thirds of the
time.”
“I know zat vill be ze best for Elsie; but ees eet possible? Ze docteur,
he say zat you vork not till ze spring. You must obey ze command, if
strength sall come back to you.”
“I know,” replied Margaret. “How would it suit you to take a sub-lease
of the land, if satisfactory arrangements can be made with the agents?”
“Eet vill be ze very sing.”
“In that event the manual-training school for Gilbert is the next move,
and I shall be compelled to ask Dr. Ely for a further advance on the
books.”
“And be sure to add that I can very soon repay it out of my independent
income,” laughed Elsie.