LA MIGNONNE
A cool sea breeze blew through the half-opened lattice, and a ray of sunshine quivered upon the ocher-colored wall, when Dick awoke from a refreshing sleep. He felt helplessly weak, and his side, which was covered by a stiff bandage, hurt him when he moved, but his head was clear at last and he languidly looked about. The room was spacious, but rather bare. There was no carpet, but a rug made a blotch of cool green on the smooth, dark floor. Two or three religious pictures hung upon the wall and he noted how the soft blue of the virgin’s dress harmonized with the yellow background. An arch at one end was covered by a leather curtain like those in old Spanish churches, but it had been partly drawn back to let the air circulate. Outside the hooked-back lattice he saw the rails of a balcony, and across the narrow patio a purple creeper spread about a dazzling white wall.
All this was vaguely familiar, because it was some days since Dick had recovered partial consciousness, though he had been too feeble to notice his surroundings much or find out where he was. Now he studied the room with languid interest as he tried to remember what had led to his being brought there. The scanty furniture was dark and old; and he knew the wrinkled, brown-faced woman in black who sat by the window with a dark shawl wound round her head. She had a place in his confused memories; as had another woman with a curious lifeless face and an unusual dress, who had once or twice lifted him and done something to his bandages. Still, it was not of her Dick was thinking. There had been somebody else, brighter and fresher than either, who sat beside him when he lay in fevered pain and sometimes stole in and vanished after a pitiful glance.
A bunch of flowers stood upon the table; and their scent mingled with the faint smell of decay that hung about the room. Lying still, Dick heard the leather curtain rustle softly in the draught, muffled sounds of traffic, and the drowsy murmur of the surf. Its rhythmic beat was soothing and he thought he could smell the sea. By and by he made an abrupt move that hurt him as a voice floated into the room. It was singularly clear and sweet, and he thought he knew it, as he seemed to know the song, but could not catch the words and the singing stopped. Then light footsteps passed the arch and there was silence again.
“Who’s that?” he asked with an energy he had not been capable of until then.
“La mignonne,” said the old woman with a smile that showed her thick, red lips and firm white teeth.
“And who’s Mignonne?”
“La, la!” said the woman soothingly. “C’est ma mignonne. But you jess go to sleep again.”
“How can I go to sleep when I’m not sleepy and you won’t tell me what I want to know?” Dick grumbled, but the woman raised her hand and began to sing an old plantation song.
“I’m not a child,” he protested weakly. “But that’s rather nice.”