"Pray pardon me," said madame with a gracious little nod; "I would not deesturb you, but the babee, he ees so sweet! You will let me give to him the orange?"
"Oh, certainly; thank you! It will be a great treat for him," rising and coming forward, with her book in her hand. "Won't you come in and rest a moment? The sun is warm this morning."
"Thank you, mooch; it ees indeed most warm! May I not here sit on the step of the door by yourself?"
"Oh, let me bring you a chair," running to get one. "There, this will be more comfortable," placing it just within the open door.
"That is true; t'anks! Come, mine babee, let me to you show how an orange is to eat, when one has no care for the appearance—it is nature's own way." She cut a tiny hole through the thick rind with her pearl-handled penknife, then put it to the child's lips and bade him suck out the juice, as the little bees suck honey from the lily-buds.
Sara watched her delightedly. How graceful, fair, and easy she was! What a beautiful dress she wore—perfectly simple, yet with an air of taste and style even her unaccustomed eyes could note. How delicate her features, how refined her voice, and with what a small white hand she managed the little knife!
She felt at once that here was a woman different from any she had ever seen before—perhaps the first one for whom she felt the word "lady" was no misnomer.
Her admiration showed so plainly in her honest eyes that the madame was inwardly amused, as well as pleased, yet not at all discomfited, for she had been used to admiration all her life.
"What is the book you read, my dear young lady, may I ask?" she said presently.
"It is Hugh Miller's 'Testimony of the Rocks,'" answered Sara.