“But here’s the point: some rich old fellow has willed the institution a fund whose income every year is used to buy clothing for the kiddies; and they have a sort of celebration on the day the duds are given out, and the public is invited to inspect the place and the inmates, and eat a bit, and look around generally. Well, my washerwoman tells me that the Beaubien always attends these annual celebrations. The next one, I learn, comes in about a month. I propose that we attend; take Carmen; ask permission for her to sing to the children, and thereby attract the attention of the gorgeous Beaubien, who will be sure to speak to the girl, who is herself an orphan, and, ten to one, want to see more of her. The rest is easy. I’ll have a word to say regarding our immense debt of gratitude to her for saving Jim’s fortune years ago when he was entangled in her net––and, well, if that scheme doesn’t work, I have other strings to my bow.”
But it did work, and with an ease that exceeded the most sanguine hopes of its projector. On the day that the General Orphan Asylum threw wide its doors to the public, the Hawley-Crowles limousine rubbed noses with the big French car of the Beaubien in the street without; while within the building the 72 Beaubien held the hand of the beautiful girl whose voluntary singing had spread a veil of silence over the awed spectators in the great assembly room, and, looking earnestly down into the big, trusting, brown eyes, said: “My dear child, I want to know you.” Then, turning to the eager, itching Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, “I shall send my car for her to-morrow afternoon, with your permission.”
With her permission! Heavens! Mrs. Hawley-Crowles wildly hugged her sister and the girl all the way home––then went to bed that night with tears of apprehension in her washed-out eyes, lest she had shown herself too eager in granting the Beaubien’s request. But her fears were turned to exultation when the Beaubien car drew up at her door the following day at three, and the courteous French chauffeur announced his errand. A few moments later, while the car glided purring over the smooth asphalt, Carmen, robed like a princess, lay back in the cushions and dreamed of the poor priest in the dead little town so far away.
CHAPTER 9
“Sing it again, dear. I know you are tired, but I want to hear that song just once more. Somehow it seems to bring up thoughts of––of things that might have been.” The Beaubien’s voice sank to a whisper as she finished.
Carmen laughed happily and prepared to repeat the weird lament which had so fascinated the Reverend Doctor Jurges a few days before.
“I––I don’t know why that song affects me so,” mused the Beaubien, when the girl had finished and returned to the seat beside her. Then, abruptly: “I wish you could play the pipe-organ out in the hall. I put twelve thousand dollars into it, and I can’t even play five-finger exercises on it.”
“Twelve thousand dollars!” exclaimed Carmen, drawing a long breath, while her eyes dilated.