Chapter 18 A Girl of High Adventure by L. T. Meade
THE GREEN HAT
There was a strange sort of feeling in the breast of little Margot as she bade Uncle Fergus good-bye. When he took her in his arms he said,
"It's all settled, pushkeen, and you are to do as I wish."
Then Uncle Jacko, with his gentle, angel sort of face, kissed the child very tenderly and said,
"You'll do your duty at any cost, my little colleen."
After that the two men went away and Margot was left with grandpère and la belle grand'mère. She felt a little bewildered. She could not help repeating over and over to herself, "I am sorry to come back. I would rather be with The Desmond than anyone else in the wide, wide world," but she was learning self-control and was growing a tiny bit older than her years. She had, however, in her grave, steadfast sort of fashion quite made up her mind.
Grandpère should know nothing about la belle grand'mère being helped. She, Margot, would help her. She kept these thoughts, however, quite to herself and la belle grand'mère talked rapidly of the handsome appearance of the Irish Desmond and how most truly he fascinated the heart.
Little Margot took no notice of this. She was absorbed in comforting grandpère. He certainly looked very old indeed in comparison with The Desmond. His black eyes had sunk further into his head, but he was rejoiced beyond words to have the child of his only son with him, and he kept patting her hand and saying,
"Très bien, la petite, thou blessed one, thou angel, thou little cabbage."
Margot did not feel in the least like an angel, but nevertheless she was determined to do her very utmost for grandpère and on his account for la belle grand'mère.
Madame la Comtesse, true to her word, had provided the most ravishing little costumes for la petite to wear, and la petite felt that the time had come when she might without any difficulty put on the pretty garments, which would be disliked and disapproved of at dear old Desmondstown. Her soft black hair, rippling, curling, flowing, fell far below her waist. Her small feet were encased in shoes of the most perfect and softest kid. This kid was of a delicate shade of blue. Her open-work stockings were to match her shoes. Then there was a little pale blue embroidered short frock, very simple, but oh, according to Madame and grandpère, superb.
As a matter of fact, la belle grand'mère had not trusted Madame Marcelle, but had sent to Paris for the little costume. The child danced about the room in delight, the old man's eyes glistened, Madame felt tears somewhere near her own eyes, but Margot of the Desmonds did not attempt to cry. It was not according to her ideas, comme il faut—oh, by no means at all, comme il faut.
At last grandpère got tired and went to bed, then Margot went up to la belle grand'mère,
"I'm going to do it," she said. "I'm going to help you."
"Thou blessed enfant!" exclaimed Madame. "Ah, mon Dieu, but thou art of the very best; distinguished is no word. Repose thyself, mon enfant. Thy dainty room is ready for thee, petite. To-morrow we will talk."
"No," said Margot, "we will talk to-night. Now, this instant! We will settle, we will arrange, we will not put off. For me, I am under no promise. Thou dost want me in the établissement, I will go there for two hours each day. Thou and I between us will look after the old, very old grandpère. Thou art trop fatiguée to do it all by thyself."
"Ah, but thou art a true poem, a romance!" exclaimed the delighted Madame. "And wilt thou really serve in the établissement, petite?"
"I will on one condition," replied Margot. "Neither of my grandfathers must ever know. I told Uncle Fergus what I thought right and fair. He did not agree and I am sorry, for I love him. But now for three months I will help thee, ma belle grand'mère."
"Ah, but thou art of the blessed," said the Comtesse. "Do not the angels sing of thee? Have they not this very night sung a new song to their harps on account of thee, ma petite?"
"I care not in the least what the angels do," said Margot, "but I want to help thee and grandpère. I will do it, too. To-morrow I will begin. Two hours daily, except Sunday, when I kneel in my room and pray to the good God; the rest of the time I learn of the French—yes—of the music—yes—of the dancing—yes! Now I will repose as thou dost suggest, ma belle grand'mère, for I am weary, not having slept, I may say, anything at all last night."
"Ah, thou blessed one, I will take thee to thy room," said Madame.
Margot undressed quickly and got into bed, a smile on her face. She had a strange feeling that she was doing right, that this was an occasion when it was her bounden duty to resist dear Uncle Fergus and help la Comtesse. She little guessed, however, that there was a certain girl, well known in the school of la Princesse de Fleury, namely, Louise Grognan, the daughter of Grognan the owner of the big restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiens—she little knew that this young person was watching her and intended for her own purposes to spoil what she called the fun of the little shopkeeper.
Accordingly the next day, when Margot was busy over her duties as saleswoman, Louise Grognan entered the shop. She came straight up to Margot and asked her in a harsh, unpleasant sort of voice for a chapeau, and she was to be vite.
Margot smiled in her gentle, pleasant way, said she was busy for the time being, but if Mademoiselle Grognan would wait for a few minutes she would take her to the apartement where the chapeaux were sold.
Louise frowned a little, felt decidedly cross, but after a time decided to wait. She was catching the little shopkeeper in the act. Nothing could be more agreeable.
Perhaps never before had little Margot St. Juste looked more beautiful than she did on this occasion. There was the spirit of self-denial in her charming little face. She was doing what she was doing for others and not for herself. Her appearance, too, was remarkably striking. Madame had dressed the little girl on this occasion in a soft crimson robe, much embroidered, with stockings and dainty shoes to match.
The beautiful child attracted the attention of everyone.
"Behold la Comtesse! Behold la Comtesse!" echoed from end to end of the great établissement.
"Now, thou, chérie, shalt be dressed according to thy needs," said a happy mother to a blushing daughter.
"And thou, Carlice, shalt wear what suits thee at long last," said an ungainly aunt to an equally ungainly niece. "Ah, but she has the taste, the little Comtesse!"
On all sides there were sounds of rejoicing and pleasure at seeing the pretty child back again. Margot heard the words, but she had all the dignity of her race. She told Madame Coquenne and Madame Lise that she would be with them soon, as soon as possible, and then she went off to attend to Louise Grognan.
"I want a chapeau," said Louise. "You put on wonderful airs, Margot, seeing you are only a shopkeeper."
Margot looked at Louise out of her beautiful, deep, loving eyes.
"Do you want to say unkind things to me, Louise?" she remarked. "Ma belle grand'mère wishes me to help her a little and I am willing to do it, for she is overworked, but mon bon grandpère he knows nothing, he thinks me a fine lady, la Comtesse St. Juste. I consider that a fine lady is the one who does best her duty."
"Are you coming back to our school?" interrupted Louise.
"No, I'm too busy for the school."
"Ah, I thought as much. Besides, we do not take shopkeepers at our school."
"But thy bon père is a restaurant keeper. I see not the difference."
Louise gave an angry clench of her little fists.
"Dost thou not know, petite fille, that I myself keep no restaurant personally? Mon père, he works for me; the difference is wide, immense."
"Mon père est mort," answered Margot in a sad voice. "Thou didst ask for a chapeau. Wilt thou select?"
Louise chose a very tall, beehive-shaped head-dress of vivid green, trimmed with quantities of grass of the same shade.
"It will not suit thee, Louise," said Margot, in her gentle, fascinating voice.
"Well, what wouldst thou suggest?" asked Louise, who was too well aware of the excellence of Margot's taste to dare to despise it.
"I would dress thee so," said Margot, and she produced a soft, black hat, very soft, very light, which could be turned up at the side and into which Margot arranged a little piece of ribbon, bright, soft, crimson, which made an arresting note in the blackness of the hat.
"Behold, here is thy chapeau!" said Margot.
Louise pouted a little, looked longingly at the grass-green hat, but finally succumbed to the black hat with the crimson ribbon.
Margot brought her before a large mirror and made her see herself in both hats.
"Ah, bah, thou must not be seen in that!" she said, flinging the grass-green chapeau aside. "Now behold the other hat! The complexion it softens, the eyes they glow, the crimson note of colour softens the colour in thy lips and cheeks. It is très beau that chapeau; it suits thee, Louise. It is my wish that thou shouldst wear it."
"Ah, c'est bien," exclaimed Louise. "But the price, the price must be low."
"One hundred and fifty francs," said Margot, in a calm, steady voice, "not a penny less, not a penny more. Behold the quality of the black, look for thyself at the shape, see how the ribbon entwines itself, just enough and no more, as I have placed it. One hundred and fifty francs—I have spoken."
"I cannot pay you now," said Louise. "You will let it lie against my little account."
"Non, non, that I never do," said Margot. "Those who buy from la petite Comtesse pay as they buy. Thou mayst, if thou dost please, Louise, buy a chapeau of Madame Marcelle; but for me, I take my black hat to another customer. She is looking at it with eyes that devour."
Certainly Louise Grognan felt inclined to stamp her feet, to rage, to utter a wicked little swear; but Margot did not take the least notice. She sold the beautiful black hat to a striking-looking American girl, and the grass-green hat was purchased by Louise and put down to the account of the said young lady by Madame Marcelle.
Now, indeed, her anger was at its height. She hated little Margot because she could not in the least compete with her. The grave dignity of the child was beyond her power to emulate. She of the people could not imitate that other one of the aristocrats. She might call her the little shopkeeper as much as she liked, but she really was la petite Comtesse and not only the assistants in the établissement adored her, but all the customers insisted on having la petite Comtesse to serve them.
Louise was now ripe for revenge. She hated the handsome child, who was so grave, so firm and dignified and full of that resolve which can only be called by its true name, the tone of the aristocrats.
Well, well, at least Louise should have her revenge. She wrote a long letter to Tilly Raynes, telling her that she had caught Marguerite in the act, and she was only waiting for her opportunity to communicate with M. le Comte St. Juste. She thought also that it might help her a little if Tilly would give her the address of the Irish grandpère, who was also so eaten up with pride.
Tilly wrote immediately, giving the full address of The Desmond of Desmondstown.
"I know no such name as The," thought Louise. "I will call him Monsieur Desmond. He shall get the letter as soon as possible. I will write the letter to-day; the day after to-morrow I will visit le Comte."
Accordingly she wrote in her broken English to Monsieur Desmond at Desmondstown in the County of Kerry, Ireland, but the letter fell into the hands of Fergus. He read it as best he could, smiled a little at the invincible spirit of the pushkeen and then tore the letter into little fragments.
Meanwhile Louise took the opportunity to ask la Princesse de Fleury to allow her to go to see her father at the Boulevard des Italiens. La Princesse was always ready to oblige. She said the girl might have a half-holiday, but must be back by six o'clock.
Louise put on her hideous grass-green hat and set out in high spirits. The walk from the town of Arles to the Château St. Juste was a good mile in length. Louise said to herself how thoroughly she would enjoy bowing that pride of the dreadful old man to the dust. Even in the beautiful town of Arles it was not very warm now. Winter was setting in with rigor, so the people of the south of France thought, although the hedges were covered with roses and climbing geraniums, and everywhere the air was perfect with the delicious smell of violets.
Louise had made careful enquiries and knew that she would arrive at the château when Margot and la belle grand'mère were out. She was not accustomed to much walking, however, and her steps went slowly. What was to become of the little shopkeeper when she had fully explained her story? She thought that at the very least la petite Comtesse would be dismissed, disgraced, sent back to those Irish people, who were so wild and ugly and indifferent and even they would not receive her, for she had been told that their pride was of the greatest, and Monsieur Desmond must have got her letter or certainly would get it before Margot arrived.
Ah, well, truly had she earned her sixty francs and the grass-green hat was very pretty according to her own ideas. She arrived at the gates of the old château. They were opened to her by a tiny Frenchwoman, whom Madame la Comtesse had placed at the lodge.
She walked up the perfectly kept avenue and smelt more strongly than ever the perfume of the violets, the scent of the roses, and the scent also of the sweet pink geraniums which fell in clusters round the trees, helping to adorn the few that were leafless, but most of the trees were olives and they were now in their bloom. Certainly the home of Monsieur le Comte was very perfect.
She reached the front door and pressed the electric bell. A man in the livery of the St. Justes replied at once to her summons.
Louise made her request.
"Ah, non, non, ce n'est pas possible. Madame she is out and la petite Comtesse is also out," replied the footman.
"I want to see Monsieur le Comte," said Louise. "I have a message to give him of great importance with regard to his granddaughter."
The man looked hard, very hard indeed at Louise. He longed to ask, "Is it a message of the serious?" but he restrained himself.
"I will enquire," he said. "Restez tranquille, Mademoiselle, I have before now eaten of your father's sweetmeats the most superb! Ah, but they melt in the mouth! Behold, a chair, Mademoiselle! I will take your message to the Comte, if it is really not one to do him any injury."
"No, no, he ought to know," said Louise. "It will save him trouble in the future. Go and, behold, if you succeed I will get my father to send you a box of his best chocolates!"
The man gazed again at the queer-looking girl and finally retired into the salon where M. le Comte was calmly resting.
M. le Comte was very happy—his beloved Madame was nearly always by his side, and now he had almost three months of la petite before him. The adored la petite! Could any aged man be happier than he? He did not mind his feeling of weakness, the rapid approach of extreme old age did not trouble him. He was happy in the gentle, soothing present. What else mattered, what else could matter?
He was interrupted when Gustave came in with his message.
"I want you not, go!" he said. "See you not that I arrange myself for repose? Go, and leave me in peace! I see no one when my wife and granddaughter are away."
"Yes, but you will see me," said Louise, suddenly bursting into the room, her grass-green hat all awry, her features flushed, her small eyes full of a delighted vengeance.
"I have come about your petite Comtesse," said Louise. "See, behold, you will listen!"
"Leave us, Gustave," said le Comte, and Gustave closed the door and applied his ear with great skill to the key-hole.
"What have you come about?" said the Comte in a voice of high displeasure. "This is my hour for repose. I see no strangers, more particularly those like yourself."
The eyes of Louise flashed with anger.
"If I suit not your taste, old man," she said, "you have but your granddaughter to blame. She sold me my chapeau in the établissement of your good wife. She goes there each day. Ask her, she cannot deny!"
The Comte felt very queer and sick, a kind of giddiness came over him, that terrible faintness from which at times he suffered was approaching, the world looked very dark.
Suddenly he pulled himself together. He found his eyes fixed on the hideous grass-green hat, never surely could his little Margot sell anything so frightful to so low-down a customer.
"Leave me, I feel faint," he said. "Send to me my man Gustave, and go! I command you to go at once!"
Louise looked wildly round her, but the grass-green hat kept on doing its work, it was quite impossible for M. le Comte to believe her story; it was out of his power even for an instant to suppose that the little hands he loved could have touched anything so impossible.
"You tell lies, my good girl," he said. "It may be possible that you will drop down dead like Sapphira, who followed the example of Ananias, her husband. Go quickly, before my anger begins to boil. Hasten before I attack you with a pistol! There are times when I lose self-control, and that chapeau—mon Dieu! That chapeau! Go at once, I beseech of you, before I do an injury, which may mean la mort!"
Louise was by now thoroughly frightened. The grand, disdainful manner of la petite Comtesse was nothing to the terrifying manner of le Comte himself.
She did not even wait to speak to Gustave; a shower began to fall from the heavens, and her grass-green hat marked her face with grass-green tints the reverse of becoming as she hurried down the avenue. The woman at the lodge laughed as she saw her, but she was good-natured and did not want to see anyone in trouble.
"Madame la Comtesse and la petite Comtesse Margot are out," she said. "I knew well you would have your walk for nothing; but behold! you shall enter my humble dwelling. Le chapeau, why it is a figure of fun. Where did you buy it, Mam'selle?"
Louise was too cross to reply, but she was not too cross to accept the shelter of the little lodge which was offered to her. She was not there two or three minutes before who should walk in but Madame.
Madame la Comtesse looked very charming. She stared fixedly at Louise and Louise sprang to her feet.
"I must speak to you," she said. "I must talk words all alone."
"I mind not," said la Comtesse. "You will leave us, Susette!"
"Then listen—you are a lying woman," said Louise, "and your granddaughter, she serves in the établissement of Madame Marcelle. Behold for yourself, she sold me this chapeau!"
"Never, never!" cried Madame. "But we will prove it. Come with me now in my motor-car to the établissement of Madame Marcelle. She tells the truth in very deed."
Louise did not seem to mind, a pleased smile wreathed her face.
"You are the daughter of Grognan, the restaurant-keeper," remarked Madame.
"I am, I make no bones about it. I am proud of it, and of mon père."
"In that you are right," exclaimed Madame. "Ah, how quickly we move, and the rain falls in torrents. Ma petite Comtesse, ma chère petite Comtesse is now enjoying her lessons of the French. I do not recognize that chapeau as one belonging to the établissement of Madame Marcelle."
"It was your granddaughter sold it to me," said Louise.
"That is impossible," said Madame, calmly, "but we will soon find out. What were you doing in the lodge belonging to the château?"
"The woman gave me shelter," said Louise. "I had gone to acquaint M. le Comte with the fact that you kept a shop and la petite Comtesse was the little shopkeeper."
"And you saw mon Alphonse?"
"Ah, oui, oui," cried Louise, beginning to enjoy herself.
Madame pulled the check-string and desired the chauffeur to fly—to put on all the speed possible. Soon they reached the établissement.
"Who sold this chapeau to Mademoiselle Grognan?" enquired la Comtesse.
"I did," said Madame Marcelle. "She has not paid for it yet."
"I admit no debts in the établissement," exclaimed Madame la Comtesse. "Madame Marcelle, why did you allow such an ugly thing into le magasin?"
"It came by mistake," replied the poor, confused Madame. "The mademoiselle liked it and I sold it to her. I only charged her forty francs, for I thought it so ugly."
"It is a screaming farce," said Madame la Comtesse. "Go back, Mademoiselle. I will write this evening to votre père, the restaurant-keeper, for the money."
"Oh, but it pours, it drenches," cried Louise.
"I care not, nay more, I am glad," said Madame.
"You went with intention to act cruelly to me and mine. Madame Marcelle, come back with me at once to the château—at once, at once! Let the assistants serve here for the rest of the day."
Thus and in this fashion was Mademoiselle served for her evil conduct. Thus was she severely reprimanded by Grognan the restaurant-keeper, and thus did Madame Marcelle explain to the much troubled Comte who had really sold the chapeau to Mam'selle.
"It was the chapeau that saved me," said the old Comte. "I was sinking into one of my worst faints, which are to the life of the aged so dangerous, when I looked at the chapeau and knew it could not be. Ma petite chérie could not act as that wicked daughter of the people would try to make me believe."
"Ah, non, M. le Comte," exclaimed Madame Marcelle, "the dignity of la petite is of the marvellous. When she enters my établissement, simply to buy, thou dost understand, every one turns to look at the beautiful enfant. She chooses for herself and her taste is superb."
"Then that girl told a cruel lie," said the Comte.
"Ah, certainement, monsieur."