Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories | Page 5

The villagers did not stand in awe of her.]
The poor child had scarcely slept at all. Her dear village! Her dear
people! The children would be hungry; the cows would die; there
would be no fires to warm those who were old.
"I must go to uncle," she said, pale and trembling. "I must ask him to
give me money. I am afraid, but it is right to mortify the spirit. The
martyrs went to the stake. The holy Saint Elizabeth was ready to endure
anything that she might do her duty and help the poor."
Because she had been called Elizabeth she had thought and read a great
deal of the saint whose namesake she was--the saintly Elizabeth whose
husband was so wicked and cruel, and who wished to prevent her from
doing good deeds. And oftenest of all she had read the legend which
told that one day as Elizabeth went out with a basket of food to give to
the poor and hungry, she had met her savage husband, who had
demanded that she should tell him what she was carrying, and when
she replied "Roses," and he tore the cover from the basket to see if she
spoke the truth, a miracle had been performed, and the basket was filled
with roses, so that she had been saved from her husband's cruelty, and
also from telling an untruth. To little Elizabeth this legend had been
beautiful and quite real--it proved that if one were doing good, the
saints would take care of one. Since she had been in her new home, she
had, half consciously, compared her Uncle Bertrand with the wicked
Landgrave, though she was too gentle and just to think he was really
cruel, as Saint Elizabeth's husband had been, only he did not care for
the poor, and loved only the world--and surely that was wicked. She
had been taught that to care for the world at all was a fatal sin.
She did not eat any breakfast. She thought she would fast until she had
done what she intended to do. It had been her Aunt Clotilde's habit to
fast very often.
She waited anxiously to hear that her Uncle Bertrand had left his room.
He always rose late, and this morning he was later than usual as he had
had a long gay dinner party the night before.
It was nearly twelve before she heard his door open. Then she went
quickly to the staircase. Her heart was beating so fast that she put her
little hand to her side and waited a moment to regain her breath. She
felt quite cold.

"Perhaps I must wait until he has eaten his breakfast," she said.
"Perhaps I must not disturb him yet. It would, make him displeased. I
will wait--yes, for a little while."
She did not return to her room, but waited upon the stairs. It seemed to
be a long time. It appeared that a friend breakfasted with him. She
heard a gentleman come in and recognized his voice, which she had
heard before. She did not know what the gentleman's name was, but she
had met him going in and out with her uncle once or twice, and had
thought he had a kind face and kind eyes. He had looked at her in an
interested way when he spoke to her--even as if he were a little curious,
and she had wondered why he did so.
When the door of the breakfast room opened and shut as the servants
went in, she could hear the two laughing and talking. They seemed to
be enjoying themselves very much. Once she heard an order given for
the mail phaeton. They were evidently going out as soon as the meal
was over.
At last the door opened and they were coming out. Elizabeth ran down
the stairs and stood in a small reception room. Her heart began to beat
faster than ever.
"The blessed martyrs were not afraid," she whispered to herself.
"Uncle Bertrand!" she said, as he approached, and she scarcely knew
her own faint voice. "Uncle Bertrand--"
He turned, and seeing her, started, and exclaimed, rather
impatiently--evidently he was at once amazed and displeased to see her.
He was in a hurry to get out, and the sight of her odd little figure,
standing in its straight black robe between the _portières_, the slender
hands clasped on the breast, the small pale face and great dark eyes
uplifted, was certainly a surprise to him.
"Elizabeth!" he said, "what do you wish? Why do you come downstairs?
And that impossible dress! Why do you wear it again? It is not
suitable."
"Uncle Bertrand," said the child, clasping her hands still more tightly,
her eyes growing larger in her excitement and