Mademoiselle Victorine generally led the conversation at the working-table, or, rather, she usually monopolized it. It was a source of great exultation to her if she happened to have a piece of news to communicate; and this now chanced to be the case.
"Something very important is to take place in this house, probably this very day!" she began, with a consequential air. "If Mademoiselle Melanie has a fault, it is that she makes no confidants; and I think I am fully entitled to her confidence. I should like to know what she could have done without me?"
"What, indeed?" exclaimed several voices, for every one was anxious to propitiate the forewoman by bestowing upon her the flattery which was essential to keep her in an equable state of mind.
"When we think of the marvels," continued Mademoiselle Victorine, "that issue from these walls; the splendid figures that go forth into the world out of our creative hands,—figures, which, could they be seen when they rise in the morning, would not be recognizable,—we have cause for self-congratulation. And Mademoiselle Melanie gets all the credit for these metamorphoses; though, we all know, she does nothing herself; that is, she merely forms a plan, makes a sketch, selects certain colors, and that is all! The execution, the real work, is mine—mine! I appeal to you, young ladies, to say if it is not mine?"
"Yes, certainly," said Abby, one of the younger girls; "but without Mademoiselle Melanie's sketch, without her ideas, her taste, what would"—
"There—there; you talk too fast, Mademoiselle Abby; you are always chattering. I say that without me Mademoiselle Melanie would never have attained her present elevated position; without me this establishment would never have been what it now is,—a very California of dressmaking. And, in a little more than four years, what a fortune Mademoiselle Melanie has accumulated! That brings me back to the point from which I started. Does any one know what is to happen shortly?" she inquired, with an air of elation at being the only repository of a valuable secret.
"No—no—what is it?" asked numerous voices.
"Well, Mademoiselle Ruth, do you say nothing?" inquired the triumphant forewoman. "Are you not anxious to know?"
Ruth, without lifting her head from the sketch she was coloring, answered, "Yes, certainly, unless it should be something with which Mademoiselle Melanie does not desire us to be acquainted."
"Oh, hear the little saint!" returned Victorine. "She does not care for secrets,—no, of course not! She is only jealous that any one should know more than herself. She would not express surprise, not she, if I told her Mademoiselle Melanie is about to pay down ten thousand dollars—the last payment—upon the purchase of this house, which makes it hers."