Many months, perhaps even years, had passed since carriage-wheels rolled over the grass-grown road that led in from the big, rusty iron gates. Horses' hoofs under their windows made so strange a sound in the ears of the Valois family that they stopped singing the beautiful hymn of Noel they had begun round the Christmas tree. They stood still, listening in great surprise; and though the room 56 was lit only by one kitchen lamp and a tallow candle (not counting the lights on the tree) Elinor Odell in the act of descending from her cab could see through an uncurtained window the man, the woman, and their two children, hand in hand, making a ring round the dark-green pyramid of pine-branches.
She and Angel had come alone. Mademoiselle Rose was staying at home to write Claude that Madame Odell had given her Christmas free—the charming, kind lady! Now "the charming, kind lady" and her little girl knocked almost timidly at the front door of the red-roofed white cottage—a queer, low-browed cottage built for peasants, in the old days when Mentone belonged to the Prince of Monaco. In a minute the door opened. Paul had answered the knock, carrying the lamp, and, lighted in that theatrical way from below, his face looked more than ever like the face in a picture. Happiness had been washed from it by the pallor of dismay for an instant, Suze having suggested the advent of Siegel; but even in the midst of his 57 amazement he smiled a welcome for Elinor and Angel.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Madame," he said, with the graciousness of a banished prince. "Yet it is a real pleasure. Have you brought the fairy to see our Christmas tree?"
"Yes," answered Elinor. "She wanted to come. And—to propose a plan. It's all hers. May we really see the Christmas tree?"
"Indeed we shall be glad," said Paul, and, making no excuses for the poorness of his show, he ushered the beautifully dressed woman and her child into the room.
It was a small, plain room, with white-washed walls and little furniture; but he or his wife had made it charming with trails of ivy and wreaths of mistletoe and holly. The kitchen lamp had a shade of red chiffon fashioned from some old hat trimming of Susan's. The tree (center of the picture for which all else was a frame) stood bravely up in a green-painted tub packed with earth. Over the brown sandy surface Paul had laid velvety bits of moss and 58 ferns from the mountainside. Odds and ends of tallow candle saved from time to time had their ugliness hidden in orange-red globes of mandarins, cleverly emptied of their pulp, and hung from the branches by handles of thin wire. Through the semi-transparent skins the light filtered with a soft, warm glow. Susan had threaded red berries and scarlet geraniums from the garden into long chains, which Paul had looped intricately over the tree. He had collected silver paper from tobacco-smoking friends, and cut out stars and crescents to sprinkle here and there. Tufts of cotton stolen from an old quilt gave an effect of scattered snowflakes, and a quantity of powdered isinglass which had once formed a stove window glittered on the green pine-needles like diamonds. As for presents, Santa Claus seemed to have thought that with so beautiful a tree they would scarcely be needed. He had provided two dolls, brightly painted and cut out of cardboard. They were dressed in accordion-pleated, pink tissue-paper and had hats to match. One 59 hung on the right side of the tree, and one on the left, and midway between each a gingerbread elephant was suspended.
There were the "decorations" which Elinor had sagely told herself no poor man could afford.
"Oh, mother!" gasped Angel, "did you ever, ever see such a lov-elly Christmas tree in all your life?"
Elinor's eyes saw the mandarin lanterns shine through tears. "Never one so sweet," she said. And sensitive Susan Valois knew that she was not "making fun."
The woman of experience found herself stammering like a school-girl as she tried to explain Angel's plan without hurting the dear creatures' feelings. But the child, with no such fear in her heart, made it quite clear, without embarrassment. "You see," she said, "the fairy garden will belong to all of us together. And I shall be like a grown-up person because you will have to pay me the rent, the way people do to grandpa's agent, such a nice man with a bald head and a wart on his nose. Perhaps if you take care of the garden 60 well, and plant lots of flowers, we shall all get rich from it like grandpa is. You will say yes, won't you? And it'll be the very happiest night of my life."