Felice bowed like a tall lily, as the “mistress,” so much younger and so much smaller than herself, came forward, slowly and with irregular steps, leaning upon a fairy sort of cane. “You are pretty, pretty, pretty—pretty as I could ask for,” said the young girl.
Felice was not accustomed to be taken by her mistresses with two tender, white hands, and called “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” A soft color came into her pale, clear cheeks, and her eyes grew liquid as she bent over the little girl without speaking. But when the little girl turned away, looking so quaint in her stylish white dress, as she leaned upon her little cane, Felice instinctively followed her. She placed the velvet hassock under her feet as she sat down, and slipped the cane into the “rest” attached to the small lounging-chair.
“Can you make a bed nicely, Pretty?” said the little girl.
“Yes, mees,” answered Felice.
“Can you put the room nicely, Pretty?”
“Yes, mees.”
“And do birds and flowers and gold-fish prosper with you, Pretty?”
“I cannot tell you, mees.”
“Can you sew nicely?”
“Mees say nicely—no, alas! I work not with the needle, none, in four year.”