He asked many questions. Elinor told him everything that could be of interest, and the Princess listened eagerly to these replies. The old servant seemed pleased when Elinor turned to him with a smile and said, in his own language: “So you are the French Fairy. That is what we always called you after finding your letter. Our lives were saved by that unexpected supply of food.”
Then they talked of other matters,–of what things should be carried back to France. 207And as the strength and energy of the American girl seemed to have gone–owing, perhaps, to a too meagre diet–the Princess insisted upon having her own maid sent up to pack the trunks. Jacques departed on this errand, and to get one or two men. He soon returned with them, and accompanied by the Archbishop. With a half-suspicious interest His Grace studied this young woman, still seated in her usual place by the table, her eyes, with a listless gaze, following the daughter of the house as she opened drawers and cabinets.
His Grace was standing by the big tapestry, between the two busts, his hands behind him.
“Pardon me, my child,” he said with a deep-toned benevolence, calculated to impress the guiltless and to awe the guilty, “but what I find it difficult to understand is why your friends did not look for you. They certainly must have guessed the situation.”
Elinor shook her head gently, as if she also recognized the mystery.
“To what do you attribute this singular indifference to your fate on the part of your family and friends?”
“I cannot guess. I have no idea.”
“It was purely accidental your–your arrival here?”
In this reply there was something that smote the Archbishop’s dignity. It seemed verging upon impertinence. Again he scrutinized the faded garments, the sunburned face, the hands somewhat roughened by toil, now folded on the table before her. His perceptions in feminine matters were less acute than those of the Princess. He remembered a young man had been a companion to this girl in this cottage, and during a whole year. It was only natural that the Princess, in treating this person with so much consideration, should be misled by a very tender, romantic heart, and by a Parisian standard of morality too elastic and too easy-going for more orthodox Christians. Into his manner came a suggestion of these thoughts,–his tone was less gracious, a trifle more patronizing. But as the victim supposed this to be his usual bearing, she felt no resentment.