"Everything?" He caught her up and a look of alarm or anxiety chased away the smile he had put on to reassure her. "Has bad news come, then? But yes—you needn't answer. I know it has. I wish I hadn't said you might open the avocat's letter! You've been crying, Suze."
The woman spoke English as if it were her own language, but the man had an accent which showed that he was not born to it. Even Angel—listening half against her will—noticed that, almost unconsciously. But she had been forced to think a great deal about "accent" in the last few months since she had come to live in Paris and talk with a French governess. She had picked up French quickly, as children do, but was always having the word "accent, accent!" 14 drummed into her head.
"I couldn't help crying a little," said Suze. "I didn't mean to let you know. I thought you'd be longer away."
"You mustn't try to hide your feelings from me, dear," the man said. "Troubles will be lighter if you let me bear them with you."
"But you—you're always trying to cheer me up, no matter what's happened," the woman reminded him, almost reproachfully. Angel realized that they must be husband and wife. They were about the right age for each other, she thought; and even a child could see by the look in their eyes that they loved one another dearly. "You pretend now that you're not hurt, but you are; you're suffering— your face shows it. Ah! the dear face, so white, so patient! I hoped I should have good news for you when you came back. I hoped that in spite of everything we might have a little peace, a little happiness, just enough to last us over Christmas, if no more. But what's the use of our hoping? Always comes another blow!" Her sobs 15 broke out again. Tears poured over her cheeks.
The man stooped and laid the little pine-tree on the grass, letting it down carefully, not to break the branches. Then he took his wife in his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. They looked two pathetic figures in their plain, rather shabby clothes, clinging together in the garden where everything save themselves was singing with joy of life and beauty.
"You mustn't give way like this, Suze," said the man, gently. "Think of the children."
"I know," she sobbed, "I hate myself for breaking down. I ought to think of you as well as the children, though you'd never tell me to do that. You never think of yourself, except of what you can do for me and them. This Christmas tree you've brought! Even if you'd been well, it would have been a big adventure, toiling up into the mountains, tired after a day's work in the garden; looking for the right tree, sure to grow in the worst place to get at; cutting it down with an ax that's no more than a toy, and then bringing the 16 thing home on your back! Why, it would be hard labor for a strong man——"
"Love gives strength," he soothed her, stroking her ruffled dark hair; and Angel thought that she had never seen a man's hand so thin. "I've done myself no harm, truly, dear one. I may not be very strong yet, but I'm getting on. Last week you said you were thankful, whatever happened, to have me out of bed——"
"You oughtn't to have been out!" Suze broke in, rebelliously. "If we weren't so poor——"