In this way Tante Modeste surmounted all difficulties, and the next morning Lady Jane, completely enveloped in a little pink domino, with a tiny pink mask carefully fastened over her rosy face, and her blue eyes wide with delight and wonder sparkling through the two holes, was lifted into the milk cart with the brood of little Paichoux, and with many good-byes to poor forlorn Pepsie and to Tony, who was standing dejectedly on one leg, the happy child was rattled away in the bright sunlight, through the merry, noisy crowd, to that center of every delight, Canal Street, on Mardi-gras.
There was no room for Tite Souris in the cart, so that dusky maiden, arrayed in the colors of a demon of darkness, an old red domino with black, bat-like wings, was obliged to take herself to the rendezvous, near the Clay statue, by whatever means of locomotion she could command. When the cart was passing Rue Royale, there was Tite in her uncanny disguise, flapping her black wings, and scuttling along as fast as her thin legs would carry her.
At last the excited party in the milk cart and the model for a diabolical flying machine were together under Tante Modeste’s severe scrutiny, listening with much-divided attention to her final instructions.
“Tiburce, attend to what I tell you,” she said impressively; “you are the eldest of the party, and you must take care of the little ones, especially of Lady Jane; keep her hand in yours all the time, mind what I say—don’t let go of her. And you, Tite, keep on the other side and hold her hand fast. Sophie, you can go in front with the two smallest, and the others can follow behind. Now keep together, and go along decently, no running or racketing on the street, and as soon as the procession passes, you had better come back to me. You will be tired and ready to go home. And Tite, remember what Miss Pepsie told you about Miss Lady. If you let anything happen to her, you’d better go and drown yourself.”
Tite, with her wings poised for flight, promised everything, even to drowning herself if necessary; and before Tante Modeste had climbed into her cart the whole brood had disappeared amongst the motley crowd.
At first, Lady Jane was a little frightened at the noise and confusion; but she had a brave little heart, and clung tightly to Tiburce on one side and Tite on the other. In a few moments she was quite reassured and as happy as any of the merry little imps around her.
It was delightful; she seemed to be carried along in a stream of riotous life, all disguised and decorated to suit their individual fancies. There were demons and angels, clowns and monks, imps and fairies, animals and birds, fish and insects—in fact, everything that the richest imagination could devise.
At first, Tite Souris ambled along quite decorously, making now and then a little essay at flying with her one free wing, which gave her a curious one-sided appearance, provoking much mirth among the little Paichoux; but at length restraint became irksome, and finally impossible. She could bear it no longer, even if she died for it. Ignoring all her promises, and the awful reckoning in store for her, with one bound for freedom she tore herself from Lady Jane’s clinging hand and, flapping her hideous wings, plunged into the crowd, and was instantly swallowed up in the vortex of humanity that whirled everywhere.
The procession was coming, the crowd grew very dense, and they were pulled, and pushed, and jostled; but still Tiburce, who was a strong, courageous boy, held his ground, and landed Lady Jane on a window-sill, where she could have a good view. The other Paichoux, under the generalship of Sophie, came up to form a guard, and so, in a very secure and comfortable position, in spite of Tite’s desertion Lady Jane saw the procession of King Rex, and his royal household.
When Tiburce told her that the beautiful Bœuf gras, decorated so gaily with flowers and ribbons, would be killed and eaten afterward, she almost shed tears, and when he further informed her that King Rex was no King at all, only a citizen dressed as a King in satin and velvet, and feathers, she doubted it, and still clung to the illusion that he must sit always on a throne, and wear a crown, according to the traditions of Mr. Gex.