Katrine either did not hear or pretended not to. She was snoring right loyally between two immense feather beds which had kept her company all the way from Vaterland. The lounge in the back parlor, with some shawls and cushions, would serve for Julie’s couch this time.
“Katrine,” asked madame, “what did you mean by locking Julie out of your room last night?”
“I vill not haf der Franchen mit me in my ped!”
“Why, Katrine, I think you are very unreasonable.”
“I care not vat you tinks! I vill go find me anodder blace!”
But madame couldn’t afford to lose Katrine. Katrine was a treasure. Katrine could cook, and wash, and iron, and do all kinds of work to perfection. She was tidy, and she was industrious, and always good-tempered till now. So, instead of her finding “anodder blace,” a bed was made for Julie in the attic—the low, wide, windowless attic, where not a breath of air moved in summer, where the winds whistled and moaned in winter, where the rats and mice held revels all the year round—the great, gloomy attic, with its mysterious chests and closets, where curious shadows dwelt; strewn with mysterious hats, and boots and shoes, that took strange shapes after the sun went down; hung about with mysterious outcasts—old gowns, and crinolines, and coats, that weirdly swayed and swung on boisterous autumn nights; the dreadful attic, where, hour after hour, when she ought to have been enjoying sweet, blessed sleep, little tired Julie lay wide-eyed, staring at—she knew not what, listening to—she knew not what, trembling, shivering, the sweat upon her brow.
“Oh, madame, j’ai peur!”[3] she said once, lingering when bedtime came.
But madame didn’t understand.
The weeks passed by. Julien did not come. Would he ever come? The question was often put to madame. But she didn’t understand. Julie began to grow discouraged. Baby was so heavy! and she was cutting teeth, too, and worried and fretted. Some new plaything must be invented every five minutes to amuse and keep her quiet. She must be sung to, rocked, carried backward and forward, to and fro, drawn in her carriage up and down the sidewalk, wearily, wearily, up and down. As for Charley, he learned to speak less good French of Julie than he hurled bad English at her. During his mother’s visit East, he had improved the chance for making acquaintance with all the boys on the street, and thus had considerably increased the list of words at his command. One day, Lizzie’s dimpled fingers found the ribbon about Julie’s neck. Out in full sight flew the precious cross. Julie hastened to hide it, but a pair of keen eyes had caught the glitter.