Kate Danton | Page 9

clock in the entrance-hall struck seven. No one seemed
to be astir in the house but herself, and her footsteps echoed weirdly in
the dark passages. A sleepy scullery maid was lighting the kitchen fire
when she got there, gaping dismally over her work; and Grace, leaving
some directions for Ma'am Ledru, the cook, departed again, this time
for the dining-room, where footman James was lighting another fire.
Grace opened the shutters, drew back the curtains, and let in the
morning sunburst in all its glory. Then she dusted and re-arranged the
furniture, swept up the marble hearth, and assisted Babette to lay the
cloth for breakfast. It was invariably her morning work; and the table
looked like a picture when she had done, with its old china and

sparkling silver.
It was almost eight before she got through; and she ran upstairs for her
bonnet and shawl, and started for her customary half-hour's walk before
breakfast. She took the road leading to the village, still and deserted,
and came back all glowing from the rapid exercise.
Captain Danton stood on the front steps smoking a meerschaum pipe,
as she came up the avenue.
"Good morning, Hebe!" said the Captain. "The November roses are
brighter in Canada than elsewhere in August!"
Grace laughed, and was going in, but he stopped her.
"Don't go yet. I want some one to talk to. Where have you been?"
"Only out for a walk, sir."
"So early! What time do you get up, pray?"
"About half-past six."
"Primitive hours, upon my word. When is breakfast time?"
"Nine, sir. The bell will ring in a moment."
It rang as she spoke, and Grace tripped away to take off her bonnet and
smooth her hair, blown about by the morning wind. The Captain was in
the dining-room when she descended, standing in his favourite position
with his back to the fire, his coat-tails drawn forward, and his legs like
two sides of a triangle.
"Are the girls up yet, Grace? Excuse the prefix; we are relatives, you
know. Ah! here is one of them. Good-morning, Mademoiselle."
"Good-morning, papa," said Eeny, kissing him. "Where is Kate?"
"Kate is here!" said the voice that was like silver bells; and Kate came

in, graceful and elegant in her white cashmere morning robe, with cord
and tassels of violet, and a knot of violet ribbon at the rounded throat.
"I have not kept you waiting, have I?"
She kissed her father and sister, smiled and bowed to Grace and took
her place to preside. Very prettily and deftly the white hands fluttered
among the fragile china cups and saucers, and wielded the carved and
massive silver coffee-pot.
Grace thought she looked lovelier in the morning sunshine than in the
garish lamplight, with that flush on her cheeks, and the beautiful golden
hair twisted in shining coils.
Grace was very silent during breakfast, listening to the rest. The
Captain and his eldest daughter were both excellent talkers, and never
let conversation flag. Miss Danton rarely addressed her, but the
Captain's cordiality made amends for that.
"I must see that brother of yours to-day, Grace," he said, "and get him
to come up here. The Curé, too, is a capital fellow--I beg his pardon--I
must bring them both up to dinner. Are the Ponsonbys, and the
Landry's, and the Le Favres in the old places yet?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll call on them, then--they don't know I'm here--and see if a little
company won't enliven our long Canadian winter. You three, Grace,
Rose and Eeny, have been living here like nonettes long enough. We
must try and alter things a little for you."
The Captain's good-natured efforts to draw his taciturn housekeeper out
did not succeed very well. She had that unsocial failing of reserved
natures, silence habitually; and her reserve was always at its worst in
the presence of the Captain's brilliant daughter. That youthful beauty
fixed her blue eyes now and then on the dark, downcast face with an
odd look--very like a look of aversion.
"What kind of person is this Miss Grace of yours, Eeny?" she asked her

sister, after breakfast. "Very stupid, isn't she?"
"Stupid! Oh, dear, no! Grace is the dearest, best girl in the world,
except you, Kate. I don't know how we should ever get on without her."
"I didn't know," said Kate, rather coldly; "she is so silent and
impenetrable. Come! You promised to show me through the house."
They were alone in the dining-room. She walked over to the fire, and
stood looking thoughtfully up at the two portraits hanging over the
mantel--Captain Danton at twenty-seven, and his wife at twenty-four.
"Poor mamma!" Kate said, with a rare tenderness in her voice. "How
pretty she was! Do you remember her, Eeny?"
"No," said Eeny. "You know