All other outcries ceased half-uttered when the Chapdelaine sisters
clapped hands for joy, crying:
"Agcepted! Agcepted! Ah, Aline! by that kindnezz and sag-acitie of
Mr. Chezter--and all the rez' of our Royal Street frien'--you are
biccome the diz-ting-uish' and _lucrative_ authorezz, Mlle.
Chapdelaine!"
M. De l'Isle's wrath was too hot for his tongue, but Scipion stood
waiting to speak, and Mme. Castanado beckoned attention and spoke his
name.
"_Messieurs et mesdames_" he said, "that manuscrip' is no mo' agcept'
than rij-ect'. That stadement, tha'z only to rilease those insuranze
companie' and----"
"And to stop us from telegraphing!" M. De l'Isle broke in, "and to
make us, ad the end, glad to get even a small price! Ah,
mesdemoiselles, you don't know those razcal' like me!"
"Oh!" cried the tender Yvonne--original rescuer of Marie Madeleine from
boy lynchers--"you don't have charitie! That way you make _yo'seff_
un'appie."
"Me, I cann' think," her sister persevered, "that tha'z juz' for the
insuranse. The manuscrip' is receive'? Well! 'ow can you receive
something if you don't agcept it? And 'ow can you agcep' that if you
don' receive it? Ah-h-h!"
"No," Beloiseau rejoined, "tha'z only to signify that the editorial
decision--tha'z not decide'."
Mlle. Corinne lifted both hands to the entire jury: "Oh, frien', I
assure you, that manuscrip' is agcept'. And tha'z the proof; that both
Yvonne and me we've had a presentiment of that already sinze the
biggening! Ah-h-h!"
Castanado intervened: "Mademoiselle, that lady yonder"--he gave his
wife a courtier's bow--"will tell you a differenze. Once on a time she
receive' a h-offer of marriage; but 'twas not till after many days thad
she agcept' it." [Applause.] "But ad the en', I su'pose tha'z for Mr.
Chezter, our legal counsel, to conclude."
Mr. Chester "thought that although receipt did not imply acceptance the
tardiness of this letter did argue a probability that the manuscript
had successfully passed some sort of preliminary reading--or
readings--and now awaited only the verdict of the editor-in-chief."
"Or," ventured Mme. Alexandre, "of that editorial board all together."
M. De l'Isle shook his head and then a stiff finger: "I tell you! They
are sicretly inquiring Thorndyke-Smith--lit'ry magnet--to fine out if
we are truz'-worthy! And tha'z the miztake we did---not sen'ing the
photograph of Mlle. Aline ad the biggening. But tha'z not yet too
late; we can wire them from firz' drug-store, 'Suspen' judgment!
Portrait of authorezz coming!'"
All eyes, even Cupid's, turned to her. She was shaking her head.
"No," she responded, with a smile as lovely, to Chester's fancy, as it
was final; as final, to the two aunts' conviction, as it was lovely.
"No photograph would be convincing," Chester began to plead, but
stopped for the aunts.
"Oh, impossible!" they cried. "That wou'n' be de-corouz!"
"Ladies an' gentlemen," said M. Castanado, "we are on a joy-ride."
"An' we 'ave reason!" his wife exclaimed.
"Biccause hope!" Mme. Alexandre put in.
"Yes!" said Dubroca. "That manuscrip' is not allone receive'; sinze
more than a week 'tis _rittain'_, whiles they dillib-rate; and the
chateau what dillib-rate'--you know, eh? M'sieu' De l'Isle, I move you
we go h-on."
They went, the De l'Isle car and then Scipion's, back to St. Charles
Avenue, and turned again up-town. On the rearmost seat----
"Why so silent?" Aline inquired of Chester.
"Because so content," he said, "except when I think of the book."
"The half-book?"
"Exactly. We've only half enough stories yet.
"Though with the _vieux carré_ full of them?"
"Oh! mostly so raw, so bald, so thin!"
"Ah, I knew you would see that. As though human life and character
were--what would say?"
"I'd say crustacean; their anatomy all on the surface. Such stories
are not life, life in the round; they're only paper silhouettes--of the
real life's poorest facts and moments. I state the thought poorly but
you get it, don't you?"
The girl sparkled, not so much for the thought as for their fellowship
in it. "Once I heard mamma say to my aunts: 'So many of these _vieux
carré_ stories are but pretty pebbles--a quadroon and a duel, a
quadroon and a duel--always the same two peas in the baby's rattle.'"
"There are better stories for a little deeper search," Chester said.
"Ah, she said that too! 'And not,' she said, 'because the _vieux
carré_ is unlike, but so like the rest of the world.'"
Thus they spoke, happily--even a bit recklessly--conscious that they
were themselves a beautiful story without the flash of a sword or the
cloud of a misdeed in range of their sight, and not because the _vieux
carré_ was unlike, but so like the rest of the world.
"Where are we going?" Aline inquired, and tried to look forward around
Mme. Castanado.
"You and I," Chester said, "are going back to your father's story. You
said, the other day, his life was quiet, richer within than without."
"Yes. Ah, yes; so that while of the inside I cannot tell half, of the
outside there is almost nothing to tell."
"All the same, tell it. Were not he and these Royal Street men boys
together?"
"Yes, though with M. De l'Isle the oldest, and though papa was away
from them many years, over there in France. Yes, they were all his
friends, as their fathers had been of _grandpère_. And they'll all
tell you the same thing; that he was their hero, while at the same time
that his story is destitute of the theatrical. Just he himself, he and
mamma--they are the whole story."
"A sea without a wave?"
"Ah, no; yet without a storm. And, Mr. Chester, I think a sea without
a storm can be just as deep as with, h'm?"