Then she finished dressing, for she hated wrappers, in which the body grows soft. She put on her apron, and made tea in the samovar which Phil had given her, just as he had given Suzanne a splendid salad-bowl. Tea was Helia’s triumph, as Suzanne’s was salad; there was no disputing it!
The concierge brought up the fresh bread, the butter, and buns; and she cut her tartines thinking of other things. She would put aside savings for Sœurette. She would teach her; have her taught the piano—she scarcely knew what—but not her own trade! The beginnings were too hard; yet if it had not been for her profession would she ever have known Phil? It would have been better not, perhaps; who knows? She owed him great joy—and grief as well! To think that he had not come to see her first night at the Cirque!
The idea came to her that she might never live out her love-romance to the end, and her heart swelled within her. But with a gesture she put away these haunting thoughts, and finished preparing the bread and butter. When the breakfast was ready she awoke her little sister.
“Up, and quickly, dear one! the tea is ready!”
Sœurette jumped from the bed, stuck her little feet into her big sister’s slippers, and did not linger playing on the carpet.
Seated on a chair made higher by a great book which she would go to turning over presently, she already had her nose in her cup. Her favorite doll, Glanrhyd, was at Phil’s studio; he was to repaint the face, which had been damaged by a fall. Other dolls were lying on the floor, but they were not Glanrhyd! Glanrhyd had been given her by Helia, who had cherished it ever since her own childhood. In spite of its absence, Sœurette was greatly preoccupied with her bread and butter and tea. She had scarcely the time to smile at her big sister and ask her questions.
“What is that—that medal?”
Helia had just been taking out of her trunk and hanging on the wall mementos of her life, to which she was much attached. Her little sister was not acquainted with these objects.
“And that, and that?” Sœurette ran on, pointing to a gilt-paper wreath, to a group of gymnasts with Helia in the foreground, to still other things.
“And that?” she added, pointing to the photograph of a young girl seated on a kind of throne with a young man at her feet.