Susan - Amy Walton (bearly read books .txt) 📗

moment, as she looked at the pretty collar, Susan's thoughts became more and more jealous and unjust; she almost forgot her companion's illness and what she had asked her to do, in the sense that she herself had been hardly treated; she forgot, too, all her resolves to behave more kindly. As she sat thus, the shadows grew deeper and deeper in the attic until it became almost dark, and looking up, she could only see one thing quite distinctly: it was the body of Sophia Jane's doll. There it lay without a head--it would most likely never have one now; it had a sad deserted look, and yet it reminded her as nothing else would have done of her promise half an hour ago. She seemed to see Sophia Jane's eager little face, to hear her whisper "soon," and to feel the clasp of her weak fingers. Better feelings came back, to her. She put her jealous thoughts aside with a struggle, and as she wrapped up the collar again determined that to-morrow, if possible, she would take it to Mademoiselle and tell her. It was Sophia Jane's present.

Strange dreams visited Susan that night: sometimes she saw Gambetta's comfortable furry face, which seemed to smile smugly at her; and then it changed; and there was Sophia Jane frowning angrily, with terribly bright eyes. The first thing she saw when she woke in the morning was the collar, which she had put on a chair by her bedside, and she at once remembered what she was to do that day. As she dressed herself she could not help the wish returning strongly that it was to be her present as well as Sophia Jane's. How well Gambetta would look in it, and how delighted Mademoiselle would be! And this time nothing happened to check those reflections, so that by the time she went down-stairs they filled her mind entirely.

Aunt Hannah looked much more cheerful this morning. Sophia Jane had slept quietly for some hours, and the fever was less; it was the first improvement she had seen.

She was quite ready to consent when Susan asked if she might go to see Mademoiselle.

"Certainly," she said; "Margaretta shall take you, and, if convenient to Mademoiselle La Roche, you can stay there an hour or so. Perhaps she will bring you back herself in the afternoon; if not, I will manage to send Buskin."

So it was settled, and at twelve o'clock they set forth, the precious parcel tucked under Susan's arm, and reminding her every moment of her promise to Sophia Jane. Mademoiselle was not there when they arrived; she was generally out at this hour, the woman of the house said, but would certainly return before long. Susan, therefore, was left with Aunt Hannah's note to wait her coming, while Margaretta hastened back at once. There was no one in the room but Gambetta, who sat stiffly upright in Monsieur's arm-chair blinking his yellow eyes. Susan went up to him, scratched his head, and made some friendly advances, but he took very little notice of her. He evidently kept his "pleasantries," as Mademoiselle called them, for his friends, and would not waste them on strangers. How soft and thick his fur was! particularly just at the neck, where it stood out in a sort of ruff. How would he look in the new collar, and would it fit him properly? He had such a large neck. It would surely be a good plan to put the collar on, so that Mademoiselle might have all the pleasure of a great surprise when she came in. It was such a splendid idea, and there was so much risk of her arriving too soon, that Susan's fingers quite trembled with excitement as she unwrapped the newspaper. As she did so, the little bell tinkled, and Gambetta looked up in lazy surprise at the noise close to his ears. "Pretty puss," said Susan coaxingly, and she quickly slipped the collar over his head and fastened the strap. It fitted beautifully, and though it gave Gambetta a somewhat constrained air, like that of a gentleman with too tight a shirt collar, it was certainly very becoming, and made him look like a cat of dignity and high rank. It was hardly done, and Susan still stood with clasped hands admiring his appearance, when Mademoiselle's quick step and quicker chatter were heard on the stairs. In a moment she hurried in with a neat basket on her arm, and her face alive with eagerness. She chattered so fast in French and English that it was some minutes before Susan could present her aunt's note, and when Mademoiselle had read that, she had still more to say. For in one breath she was charmed to see Susan, and in the next desolated to hear that Sophia Jane was ill, and she flew from one subject to the other with such astonishing rapidity that Susan gave up trying to follow her, and waited patiently till she should have leisure to notice Gambetta. And at length he drew attention to himself, for evidently feeling neglected, he opened his mouth and uttered a tiny plaintive mew. Mademoiselle looked round at once at her favourite, and her eye fell on the new decoration.

"Mais--ciel!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. She was a person of such quick thoughts and impulses that, waiting for no explanation, she at once took for granted that Susan had given the collar, and poured out her delighted thanks mingled with caresses. It was really difficult to get in a word, though Susan several times tried to begin the sentence, "It's Sophia Jane's present;" but the words were choked by hugs and kisses, and she said to herself, "I'll tell her presently when she gets quieter."

This time did not come soon, for even when her first excitement was over Mademoiselle's spirits continued to be very gay, and she talked without ceasing; she was unusually happy, she presently told Susan, because Adolphe had that very day obtained another excellent engagement.

"Figure to yourself," she said, as she carefully took some fresh eggs out of her basket and laid them on a dish, "how rejoiced I am that his patience is at length rewarded. As I went out this morning I said to myself, `Delphine, this occasion demands a little fete of some kind; it would be well to prepare an omelette au fines herbes for supper.' I therefore buy fresh eggs in addition to my usual outlay. I return, and behold! all good things arrive at once. You are here, petite, and have been so amiable for our cherished Gambetta. He, too, will join the fete this evening in his charming new toilette, for I have not forgotten to provide the morsel of liver he loves much."

Susan looked on and listened, and soon became very much interested in Mademoiselle's preparations. It appeared that as Adolphe was never home till late they were accustomed to have their principal meal together in the evening; to-day, however, in honour of her guest, she was bent on preparing a choice little mid-day repast. First she made some coffee and put the pot on the hearth to keep warm, and then, Susan having helped her to lay the table, she proceeded to make a sweet omelette. This process was most attractive. It was delightful to see how deftly she shook the handle of the little pan, how she coaxed and patted and tossed the eggs into the form of an omelette, and how, just at the very right moment, she hastily removed it into a hot dish, swiftly inserted the jam, and folded it over. It looked like magic to Susan, and for the moment it put everything about Sophia Jane out of her head. She soon thought of her again, however. Mademoiselle, having taken off a large white apron, sat down to do the honour of the table with a slightly increased colour but unsubdued powers of conversation, and her first remark was:

"So the poor little companion is ill. That is a great pity. You are quite alone, petite, are you not?"

Here was the very moment to correct the mistake, and Susan was just going to speak when Delphine added:

"Adolphe has informed me of the excellent progress she has lately made. It is a child of much ability he considers, and very amiable."

Alas for Susan! This remark checked the words on her lips, and brought back all her jealous feelings of Sophia Jane. She could not bear to hear her praised. She would put off saying anything about the present just now, she thought. She would still do it of course; but it would be easier out of doors when she and Mademoiselle were walking home together. And it really seemed as though she were to have constant opportunities given to her; for, when they started an hour or so later, Mademoiselle remarked that the doll Grace wore her new bonnet, and asked:

"And does your little friend yet possess a doll with a head?"

What could be better? The answer in Susan's mind was, "she might have had one, but she bought the collar instead;" but somehow she could not get the words out. A strange voice seemed to reply for her:

"She doesn't care about dolls, now she's ill."

"Pauvre petite!" exclaimed Mademoiselle in a tone full of sympathy, then suddenly glancing across the road her face became alight with smiles, she waved her hand to someone, bowed repeatedly, and said in a low voice, "It is that brave Madame Jones!" Susan looked in the same direction; she had always been curious to see Madame Jones since the story of the beefsteak. There she was, standing at the door of her shop with her sleeves tucked up; joints of meat and carcasses hung all round. Her face was broad and red, and she wore a black net cap with pink roses in it. She might be brave, and noble, and all that Mademoiselle had said, but Susan thought her not at all nice-looking, and was quite disappointed. She had not expected her to be like that.

"It is a most excellent woman," murmured Delphine enthusiastically, "and of a noble heart. It is to her we owe the commencement of our success."

Aunt Hannah's gate was reached wonderfully soon after this, and still Susan had not told her of the mistake. "It was only put off, however," she said to herself, "and it really had not been her fault. She would explain all, the very next time they met."

Mademoiselle left her at the gate with an affectionate good-bye, and as Susan walked up the path to the door the doctor came out. He was generally in's great hurry, but to-day he stopped and smiled at her:

"Good news," he said. "If this improvement continues you may see your companion to-morrow, and sit with her an hour. She's much stronger and better."

Was it good news? Of course Susan was glad that Sophia was better, but the thought at once came into her mind, as she watched the doctor out of the gate, "she will ask me about the collar. She will expect a message from Mademoiselle." All that evening she was troubled about this, and even hoped that Sophia Jane might not be _quite_ so well to-morrow, so that she might have time to see Mademoiselle again and make