Meanwhile Mademoiselle bent her eyes on her darning again, and proceeded:
“We were never rich, you see, in Paris, but we had enough to live in a pretty little appartement, very different from this. My brother Adolphe wrote articles for a paper of celebrity on political affairs; he had a great name for them, and if the pay was small it was certain. For me, I was occupied with the cares of the ménage, and we were both content with our lives—often even gay. But trouble came. There was a crise in affaires. Adolphe’s opinions were no longer those of the many; the paper for which he wrote changed its views to suit the world. Adolphe was offered a magnificent sum to change also, and write against his conscience. He lost his post; we became poorer every day. ‘Unless you write, Adolphe,’ I said to him, ‘we starve.’ He has a noble heart, my brother, full of honesty and truth. ‘I will rather starve,’ he replied, ‘than write lies.’ So after a time we resolved to try our fortune here in this cold, grey England. And we came. Adolphe was to become a Professor of French, but it was long before he found work, and we suffered. Mon Dieu! how we suffered during that first month!”
She paused a moment when she reached this point, and nodded her head several times without speaking, as though words failed her. Susan, who had listened to it all with the most earnest attention, feared she would not go on, and she wanted very much to know what happened next.
“Was it because you had no money?” she asked softly at length.
“My child,” said Delphine, her bright eyes moist with tears, which she winked quickly away, “it is a terrible thing to be hungry one’s self, but it is far worse to see anyone you love hungry and heart-broken, and yet patient. That is a thing one does not forget. But at last, when we almost despaired, the Bon Dieu sent us a friend. It is a little history which may, perhaps, amuse you; it was like this:—
“One night Adolphe was returning to me to say, as usual, that he could find no place; no one wanted a French master. He had scarcely eaten that day, and for weeks we had neither of us tasted meat, for we lived on what I could make by sewing, and it was very little. Adolphe therefore felt low in spirits and body, for he had walked about all the day, and his heart was heavy. As he passed a butcher’s shop near here, the wife, who stood in the doorway, greeted him. He had once bought of her some scraps of meat, such as you English give to your cats and dogs, but which, in hands that understand the French cuisine, can be made to form a ragout of great delicacy.
“‘Good evening,’ said she; ‘and how did the cat like his dinner?’
“My brother removed his hat and bowed, (you may have observed his noble air at such moments), then, drawing himself to his full height:—
“‘Madame,’ he replied, ‘I am the cat!’
“This answer, joined to the graceful manner of Adolphe, struck the good Madame Jones deeply. They at once enter into conversation, and my brother relates to her his vain attempts to find employment. She listens with pity; she gives encouragement. Finally, before they part she forces upon his acceptance two pounds of fillet steak. He returns to me with the meat enveloped in a cabbage leaf, and that night we satisfy our hunger with appetising food, and our hearts are full of gratitude to Heaven and this good Madame Jones. And from that time,” finished Mademoiselle holding up one hand with the sock stretched upon it, “things mend. Madame Jones recommends Adolphe to Madame, your aunt; she again tells others of him, and he has now, enough to do. We are hungry no longer. It is not very gay in the appartement; the sun does not shine much, but we are together. Some day, who knows? we may be able to return to our dear Paris. One must have courage.” She stooped and kissed Susan’s upturned face, which was full of sympathy.