Aunt Hannah looked much more cheerful this morning. Sophia Jane had slept quietly for some hours, and the fever was less; it was the first improvement she had seen.
She was quite ready to consent when Susan asked if she might go to see Mademoiselle.
“Certainly,” she said; “Margaretta shall take you, and, if convenient to Mademoiselle La Roche, you can stay there an hour or so. Perhaps she will bring you back herself in the afternoon; if not, I will manage to send Buskin.”
So it was settled, and at twelve o’clock they set forth, the precious parcel tucked under Susan’s arm, and reminding her every moment of her promise to Sophia Jane. Mademoiselle was not there when they arrived; she was generally out at this hour, the woman of the house said, but would certainly return before long. Susan, therefore, was left with Aunt Hannah’s note to wait her coming, while Margaretta hastened back at once. There was no one in the room but Gambetta, who sat stiffly upright in Monsieur’s arm-chair blinking his yellow eyes. Susan went up to him, scratched his head, and made some friendly advances, but he took very little notice of her. He evidently kept his “pleasantries,” as Mademoiselle called them, for his friends, and would not waste them on strangers. How soft and thick his fur was! particularly just at the neck, where it stood out in a sort of ruff. How would he look in the new collar, and would it fit him properly? He had such a large neck. It would surely be a good plan to put the collar on, so that Mademoiselle might have all the pleasure of a great surprise when she came in. It was such a splendid idea, and there was so much risk of her arriving too soon, that Susan’s fingers quite trembled with excitement as she unwrapped the newspaper. As she did so, the little bell tinkled, and Gambetta looked up in lazy surprise at the noise close to his ears. “Pretty puss,” said Susan coaxingly, and she quickly slipped the collar over his head and fastened the strap. It fitted beautifully, and though it gave Gambetta a somewhat constrained air, like that of a gentleman with too tight a shirt collar, it was certainly very becoming, and made him look like a cat of dignity and high rank. It was hardly done, and Susan still stood with clasped hands admiring his appearance, when Mademoiselle’s quick step and quicker chatter were heard on the stairs. In a moment she hurried in with a neat basket on her arm, and her face alive with eagerness. She chattered so fast in French and English that it was some minutes before Susan could present her aunt’s note, and when Mademoiselle had read that, she had still more to say. For in one breath she was charmed to see Susan, and in the next desolated to hear that Sophia Jane was ill, and she flew from one subject to the other with such astonishing rapidity that Susan gave up trying to follow her, and waited patiently till she should have leisure to notice Gambetta. And at length he drew attention to himself, for evidently feeling neglected, he opened his mouth and uttered a tiny plaintive mew. Mademoiselle looked round at once at her favourite, and her eye fell on the new decoration.
“Mais—ciel!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. She was a person of such quick thoughts and impulses that, waiting for no explanation, she at once took for granted that Susan had given the collar, and poured out her delighted thanks mingled with caresses. It was really difficult to get in a word, though Susan several times tried to begin the sentence, “It’s Sophia Jane’s present;” but the words were choked by hugs and kisses, and she said to herself, “I’ll tell her presently when she gets quieter.”
This time did not come soon, for even when her first excitement was over Mademoiselle’s spirits continued to be very gay, and she talked without ceasing; she was unusually happy, she presently told Susan, because Adolphe had that very day obtained another excellent engagement.
“Figure to yourself,” she said, as she carefully took some fresh eggs out of her basket and laid them on a dish, “how rejoiced I am that his patience is at length rewarded. As I went out this morning I said to myself, ‘Delphine, this occasion demands a little fête of some kind; it would be well to prepare an omelette au fines herbes for supper.’ I therefore buy fresh eggs in addition to my usual outlay. I return, and behold! all good things arrive at once. You are here, petite, and have been so amiable for our cherished Gambetta. He, too, will join the fête this evening in his charming new toilette, for I have not forgotten to provide the morsel of liver he loves much.”
Susan looked on and listened, and soon became very much interested in Mademoiselle’s preparations. It appeared that as Adolphe was never home till late they were accustomed to have their principal meal together in the evening; to-day, however, in honour of her guest, she was bent on preparing a choice little mid-day repast. First she made some coffee and put the pot on the hearth to keep warm, and then, Susan having helped her to lay the table, she proceeded to make a sweet omelette. This process was most attractive. It was delightful to see how deftly she shook the handle of the little pan, how she coaxed and patted and tossed the eggs into the form of an omelette, and how, just at the very right moment, she hastily removed it into a hot dish, swiftly inserted the jam, and folded it over. It looked like magic to Susan, and for the moment it put everything about Sophia Jane out of her head. She soon thought of her again, however. Mademoiselle, having taken off a large white apron, sat down to do the honour of the table with a slightly increased colour but unsubdued powers of conversation, and her first remark was:
“So the poor little companion is ill. That is a great pity. You are quite alone, petite, are you not?”
Here was the very moment to correct the mistake, and Susan was just going to speak when Delphine added: