A Modern Madonna

by Caroline Abbot Stanley

And the Judge said no more. Watching the girl closely he halfway thought it was true.

Two rooms in the third story where she could be quiet and have the sunlight were prepared for Rosalie Lesseur. There she and a discreet nurse were installed, and there she lay basking in the sunshine of her child's presence and the knowledge that all was well. She had not even questioned them about whose house she was entering. It was enough that it was her Chamber of Peace.

It happened that the day after she was settled here Bess came into the room with a big bunch of yellow daisies which she laid in Margaret's lap.

"For 'Mrs. Osborne,' with Mr. Harcourt's compliments," she said, "'and will she tell him what they recall to her?'"

"Give him 'Mrs. Osborne's' thanks," said Margaret, smiling at his message, "and tell him they remind her strikingly of the black-eyed Susans of South Haven."

From this Rosalie Lesseur naturally supposed that her benefactress was Mrs. Osborne. She called her so once to the nurse, who had also seen the flowers presented, and that judicious person, who was taciturn by nature and prudent by profession, did not see fit to undeceive her. Perhaps Mrs. De Jarnette had some reason for wishing to be known as Mrs. Osborne. It was no part of her business to talk. And since Rosalie with a trace of inherited Frenchiness always addressed Margaret as "Madam," or "lady,"—sometimes "sweet lady," "dear lady," her misapprehension in regard to the name was never discovered.

Everything that could be done for the sick girl's comfort was done. The child came in and out at will. He was a sweet, lovable boy, gentle like his mother and easily led. When the two children were together, it was always Philip that took the lead. Margaret took him often with her in her visits to Elmhurst, thinking it was well for Philip to have intercourse with other children. It added greatly to the happiness of both, but Mammy Cely was never quite reconciled to the intimacy. "You can't never tell nothin' 'bout these here pick-up chil'n," she would say.

Rosalie was very responsive to kindness, never having had a surfeit of it, and was so grateful for everything done for her that it was easy to keep on doing. Margaret fell into the habit of being much with her, reading to her, sitting beside her with her sewing, talking sometimes but often simply giving her the comfort of her presence, and receiving—ah, well! nobody can give of herself as Margaret gave and not receive in return good measure pressed down and running over. Mrs. Pennybacker, too, was kind and motherly. Her hand often rested on the girl's forehead with the line on her lips unspoken—

"She was so young, and then she had no mother."

Bess and the little boy were the greatest friends and took long walks together, often going to the Zoo, because the child, of course, was fond of seeing the animals, and Bess was but another child. Mr. Harcourt frequently accompanied them upon these tramps "to take care of the children" he said. But with the responsibility of the little boy upon her, Bess really seemed quite womanly, looking after him with a little assumption of motherliness that was extremely pretty, John Harcourt used to think. He watched her while she watched the animals.