“Cheer up, Mademoiselle,” said Jimmie as Miriam took an empty chair between Gertrude and the Martins.
Timidly meeting Gertrude’s eye Miriam received her half-smile, watched her eyebrows flicker faintly up and the little despairing shrug she gave as she went on with her mending.
“Ah, mammazellchen c’est pas mal, ne soyez triste, mein Gott mammazellchen es ist aber nichts!” chided Emma consolingly from her place near the window.
“Oh! je ne veux pas, je ne veux pas,” sobbed Mademoiselle.
No one spoke; Mademoiselle lay snuffling and shuddering. Solomon’s scissors fell on to the floor. “Mais pourquoi pas, Mademoiselle?” she interrogated as she recovered them.
“Pourquoi, pourquoi!” choked Mademoiselle. Her suffused little face came up for a moment towards Solomon. She met Miriam’s gaze as if she did not see her. “Vous me demandez pourquoi je ne veux pas partager ma chambre avec une femme mariée?” Her head sank again and her little grey form jerked sharply as she sobbed.
“Probably a widder, Mademoiselle,” ventured Bertha Martin, “oon voove.”
“Verve, Bertha,” came Millie’s correcting voice and Miriam’s interest changed to excited thoughts of Fräulein—not hating her, and choosing Mademoiselle to sleep with the servant, a new servant—the things on the landing—Mademoiselle refusing to share a room with a married woman ... she felt about round this idea as Millie’s prim, clear voice went on ... her eyes clutched at Mademoiselle, begging to understand ... she gazed at the little down-flung head, fine little tendrils frilling along the edge of her hair, her little hard grey shape, all miserable and ashamed. It was dreadful. Miriam felt she could not bear it. She turned away. It was a strange new thought that anyone should object to being with a married woman ... would she object? or Harriett? Not unless it were suggested to them.... Was there some special refinement in this French girl that none of them understood? Why should it be refined to object to share a room with a married woman? A cold shadow closed in on Miriam’s mind.
“I don’t care,” said Millie almost quickly, with a crimson face. “It’s a special occasion. I think Mademoiselle ought to complain. If I were in her place I should write home. It’s not right. Fräulein has no right to make her sleep with a servant.”
“Why can’t the servant sleep in one of the back attics?” asked Solomon.