“If she knew how badly I’ve always behaved to Monsieur she wouldn’t have done that,” thought Susan penitently.
“There now rests one great wish in Adolphe’s heart,” continued Delphine, “and that is, to be able some day to reward Madame Jones for her goodness. Strangers, and without money, she fed and cheered us, and it is to her we owe our success. Never could either of us be so basely ungrateful as to forget that if we are again blessed by prosperity. Often has Adolphe, who is a fine English scholar, repeated to me the lines of your poet, Shakespeare:—
“Freeze, freeze thou winter sky;
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.”
Susan had remained wide awake in spite of great fatigue during the whole of Mademoiselle’s story; but now, when she came to the poetry, which she repeated with difficulty and very slowly, there seemed to be something lulling in her voice. The room was warm too, and presently the sounds in it got mixed up together. The crackling of the fire, the bubbling of the saucepan, and Delphine’s tones, joined in a sort of lullaby. Susan’s eyelids gently closed, and she was fast asleep. So fast that the next thing she knew was that Buskin had somehow arrived and was carrying her upstairs; that Monsieur was in attendance with a candle, and that a cab was waiting at the door. But having noticed this, it was quite easy to go to sleep again, and she scarcely awoke when they arrived at Aunt Hannah’s and she was put to bed.
So it was not till broad daylight the next morning that she began to think over her adventures, and to remember all the wonderful things that had happened the day before. And in particular all the details of Delphine’s story came back to her, and the earnest gratitude with which she had talked of Mrs Jones’ kindness. “‘Strangers, and without money, she fed and cheered us.’ Now that is just exactly what Monsieur did for me when I first saw him,” thought Susan; “and all I’ve done in return is to laugh at him and give him trouble. I haven’t been grateful at all.” The more she considered her conduct the more ashamed she began to feel, and she could not help wondering what Mademoiselle Delphine would think of her if she knew. “At any rate,” she resolved, “I won’t do it any more. I never will laugh at lesson-time, and I’ll learn everything quite perfectly and be as good as ever I can, whatever Sophia Jane likes to say.” Sophia Jane, that naughty, badly behaved child! After all, it was her fault that Susan had done wrong, she went on to think, and it was also her fault that she had lost herself yesterday, because she had been so disagreeable about the Enemy and the basket. It was a comfort to be able to shift the blame on Sophia Jane’s shoulder, for Susan liked to think well of herself, and she began to feel more cheerful and satisfied as she dressed and went down-stairs. Here Nanna and Margaretta were prepared with all manner of questions about Monsieur, his house, and his sister, but Susan was quite determined to tell them very little. She repeated gravely, “They were very kind, and I like them very much;” and this was most unsatisfactory to her listeners, who craved for the tiniest details of her adventure. Sophia Jane alone sat mute, but sharply attentive to all that passed, hunching up her shoulders and fixing her blue eyes on each speaker in turn. She was, as usual, in disgrace Susan and, and had been forbidden to speak at meals; but as soon as breakfast was over she made the best use of the hour before lessons began, and examined her companion narrowly:
“Whatever makes you look so solemn?” she asked at last.
“I’m not going to laugh at Monsieur La Roche ever again,” said Susan solemnly. “I’ve made a good resolution.”
“What for?” asked Sophia Jane.
“Because he’s been very kind, and it’s wrong to laugh at him,” answered Susan.
Sophia Jane made a face that Susan very much disliked, it was so full of contempt.