Esmeralda | Page 7

kinder outed, and she's not at herself rightly. Don't you never mind.
Mother she means well, but--but she's got a sorter curious way of
showin' it. She's got a high sperrit, an' we'd ought to 'low fur it, and not
take it so much to heart. Mis' Dimar here knows how high-sperrited
people is sometimes, I dessay,--an' mother she's got a powerful high
sperrit."
But the poor child only wept more hopelessly. It was not only the
cruelty of her mother which oppressed her, it was the wound she bore
in her heart.
Clélie's eyes filled with tears as she regarded her.
The father was also more broken in spirit than he wished it to appear.
His weather-beaten face assumed an expression of deep melancholy
which at last betrayed itself in an evidently inadvertent speech.
"I wish--I wish," he faltered. "Lord! I'd give a heap to see Wash now.
I'd give a heap to see him, Esmeraldy."
It was as if the words were the last straw. The girl turned toward him
and flung herself upon his breast with a passionate cry.
"Oh, father!" she sobbed, "we sha'n't never see him again--never--never!
nor the mountains, nor the people that cared for us. We've lost it all,
and we can't get it back,--and we haven't a soul that's near to us,--and
we're all alone,--you and me, father, and Wash--Wash, he thinks we
don't care."
I must confess to a momentary spasm of alarm, her grief was so wild
and overwhelming. One hand was flung about her father's neck, and the
other pressed itself against her side, as if her heart was breaking.
Clélie bent down and lifted her up, consoling her tenderly.

"Mademoiselle," she said, "do not despair. Le Bon Dieu will surely
have pity."
The father drew forth the large linen handkerchief, and unfolding it
slowly, applied it to his eyes.
"Yes, Esmeraldy," he said; "don't let us give out,--at least don't you
give out. It doesn't matter fur me, Esmeraldy, because, you see, I must
hold on to mother, as I swore not to go back on; but you're young an'
likely, Esmeraldy, an' don't you give out yet, fur the Lord's sake."
But she did not cease weeping until she had wholly fatigued herself,
and by this time there arrived a message from Madame, who required
her presence down-stairs. Monsieur was somewhat alarmed, and rose
precipitately, but Mademoiselle was too full of despair to admit of fear.
"It's only the dress-maker," she said. "You can stay where you are,
father, and she won't guess we've been together, and it'll be better for us
both."
And accordingly she obeyed the summons alone.
Great were the preparations made by Madame for the entertainment My
wife, to whom she displayed the costumes and jewels she had
purchased, was aroused to an admiration truly feminine.
She had the discretion to trust to the taste of the artistes, and had
restrained them in nothing. Consequently, all that was to be desired in
the appearance of Mademoiselle Esmeralda upon the eventful evening
was happiness. With her mother's permission, she came to our room to
display herself, Monsieur following her with an air of awe and
admiration commingled. Her costume was rich and exquisite, and her
beauty beyond criticism; but as she stood in the centre of our little
salon to be looked at, she presented an appearance to move one's heart.
The pretty young face which had by this time lost its slight traces of the
sun had also lost some of its bloom; the slight figure was not so round
nor so erect as it had been, and moved with less of spirit and
girlishness.

It appeared that Monsieur observed this also, for he stood apart
regarding her with evident depression, and occasionally used his
handkerchief with a violence that was evidently meant to conceal some
secret emotion.
"You're not so peart as you was, Esmeraldy," he remarked, tremulously;
"not as peart by a light smart, and what with that, and what with your
fixin's, Wash--I mean the home-folks,"--hastily--"they'd hardly know
ye."
He followed her down-stairs mournfully when she took her departure,
and Clélie and myself being left alone interested ourselves in various
speculations concerning them, as was our habit.
"This Monsieur Wash," remarked Clélie, "is clearly the lover. Poor
child! how passionately she regrets him,--and thousands of miles lie
between them--thousands of miles!"
It was not long after this that, on my way downstairs to make a trifling
purchase, I met with something approaching an adventure. It so
chanced that, as I descended the staircase of the second floor, the door
of the first floor apartment was thrown open, and from it issued
Mademoiselle Esmeralda and her mother on their way to their waiting
carriage. My interest in the appearance of Mademoiselle in her