"Here she is, Mademoiselle! Now everything is all right!" he exclaimed, as joyously as though great news had come from the front. And out from the group tottered Mademoiselle Rose, to precipitate herself upon the child and drench her velvet hood with a waterspout of tears.
Angel had not been left in ignorance by her relatives that she was a young person of some charm and importance, but never in her life 31 had she been so overwhelmed with adjectives, in any language. Mademoiselle Rose, shedding tears which looked to Angel's astonished gaze the size of pebbles, called her a lamb, a saint, an adored cherub, and many other things which Angel determined to bring up in future if ever she were scolded. It appeared that the distracted governess, on waking from her dream of love with Claude, had nearly fainted on finding Angel gone. She had left her soldier on his crutches, to rush here and there, searching wildly for her charge. She had described the child to every one she met, and asked in vain for news of her. She had dashed into shops and houses, she had been led to the gendarmerie and had sobbed out her story of loss, reluctantly pausing to see details industriously written down; and at last she had run all the way to the hotel, hoping against hope that the lost one had returned.
Her state of mind, as described by herself, was tragic when she had ransacked the rooms and asked questions of servants and visitors, 32 only to be assured that her charge had not come home. She blamed herself entirely, not Angel in the least; therefore Angel felt kindly toward Mademoiselle, and attempted to comfort her by saying how glad she ought to be, anyhow, that Claude was alive. The young Frenchwoman hysterically admitted this, and was in the act of expressing also her thankfulness that Madame had not yet returned, to suffer, when Madame herself walked in, followed by a commissionaire bearing many bundles. She looked rosy and girlish, but at sight of Mademoiselle on her knees in the hall, bathing Angel with tears, her bright color ebbed.
"What has happened?" she stammered, her big, dark eyes appealing to concierge, governess, and all Angel's other satellites.
It was the child who answered, before any one else could speak. "Oh, mother!" she gasped, drawing in a long breath, "I haven't been runned over by a moting-car, or bited by a mad dog, or drownded in the sea, or anything bad, but only just lost for a very little while; and it was lovely, in a fairy garden. And I want to tell you 33 about it quick, because I gave them your ring what has one big di'mond and little ones all the way 'round, tied to their white kitten's neck."
"Good gracious!" ejaculated Elinor Odell, as Angel paused at the end of that long-drawn breath. "What does she mean, Mademoiselle?"
"I do not know yet, Madame," the governess apologized, getting to her feet and wiping her eyes with the drier of two damp handkerchiefs. "The blessed one has but just come in, when I was about to go out once more and search. There has been no time to hear, but, praise, le bon Dieu, she is at least safe and unhurt."
"I will telephone the good news to the gendarmerie," murmured the concierge.
Elinor Odell adored her child, not knowing for certain which she loved better than the other, if either—Dick, her husband, or his daughter and hers. She was warm-hearted, and deep-hearted, too; but circumstances had very early in her life of twenty-eight years 34 developed the practical side of her nature. She had learned how to control herself and to control others. Also she was quick—perhaps too quick—in forming conclusions. Had she not grown up as the only child of a widowed millionaire, she might have been just the beautiful, intelligent, emotional girl she looked, and nothing more; but to her father she owed much besides money and position; she owed many qualities. One of them was a slight surface hardness, like a cooling crust over boiling lava. She realized instantly that, no matter what the "Angel-Imp's" adventure had been, there was no longer any need to worry about the child. She took in that fact, and even as she mentally gave thanks for it she took in something else also. Persons in a garden whither Angel had strayed or been invited had apparently persuaded the innocent and impulsive little girl to give away a valuable diamond ring. Prejudice instantly built up within Elinor a barrier against some one unknown. She didn't mean to reproach Angel, but she did mean to catechize her, and she intended to get back her father's last 35 year's Christmas present.
"All's well that ends well," she quoted, with the radiant smile which had helped to give Elinor Holroyd the reputation of a beauty. "Come, Angel, come Mademoiselle, let's go up to our own rooms and tell one another everything." Then, when the governess and child had been started off in advance, she paused for whispered instructions concerning the bundles. They contained the Christmas presents which she had gone out to buy for Angel, but, luckily, the little girl was too excited to notice and wonder inconveniently. She wasn't even thinking of the gifts from her grandfather in America, which she confidently expected.