“I should say that the first thing to do was to write to Captain Du Bois and learn his wishes,” said Miss Lowndes.
“I agree with you,” returned Paulette, “but as I am not gifted with the pen, mademoiselle, perhaps you will do this writing for me. You will be able to put the case more clearly than the child, Lucie, who will be guided by her own desires.”
“I will gladly write, for I think I know conditions pretty well. I suppose Captain Du Bois must have relatives somewhere to whom you might go.”
“I know of none who do not live in cities or so far away that it would be a miserable journey to reach them, but he has friends no doubt, and at least can advise.”
“In the meantime I will be making inquiries and it may be that a chance will come which will be exactly what would be best.”
So the letter was written, but as it happened the chance came neither through a suggestion of Captain Du Bois, nor through any scheme of Miss Lowndes, and while waiting for an answer to the letter the girls and Miss Lowndes did their shopping.
Lucie was quite ready to indulge herself in as pretty and becoming clothes as she could afford, but Odette—who would give her credit for so much good sense?—Odette insisted upon such things as she had always worn, the simple dress of a little peasant. “I am to work in the fields, mademoiselle,” she said. “How long would such a frock as Lucie’s serve me? Again I shall be thrown with the country people and I do not wish them to laugh at me or to think I am putting on airs.”
Miss Lowndes looked at her quite taken aback. “Did you ever!” she exclaimed. “I did not think of that, Odette,” she said. “You are wiser than I.” She told Paulette about it when she next saw her. The good woman nodded approvingly. “She is clever, very clever, that Odette.”
“And if you could have seen how pretty she looked in the hat that was tried on her.”
“No doubt, no doubt, but beauty is only skin deep, and does not earn the bread and butter as readily as quick wit and busy hands.”