Rachel went and sat near her, and spoke to her, but she only got an unintelligible murmur for a reply. Madame Rose shook her head, as much as to say that the attainments of Mimi—so she called her—did not include speech. But Mimi was very good—very good indeed, only she could not talk, which was "bien dommage," added Madame Rose, as, had she only been able to speak, Mimi would certainly have done it charmingly.
"You should see her eating onion soup," enthusiastically added Madame Rose. "It is beautiful!" Then, seeing that Rachel was engaged in scrutinizing, with a pitying glance, the ragged attire of her protege, Madame Rose jealously informed her that, as yet, the toilette of Mimi had been a little neglected, certainly; but that, "with time, and the help of God," added Madame Rose, "Mimi should want for nothing."
"I have an old dress at home, that will just do for her," timidly said
Rachel "Shall I bring it to-morrow night?"
Madame Rose coughed dubiously—she had not understood; but a perfect knowledge of the English tongue, in all its most delicate intricacies, was one of her vanities. So, bending her head of one side, and patting her ear, as if to imply that there lay the fault, she evidently requested Rachel to repeat She did so; and this time, Madame Rose caught enough of her meaning to misunderstand her.
"I understand—I understand!" she exclaimed, triumphantly; and settling Mimi in her chair, she told her to be good, for that she was only going to fetch her an elegant dress presented to her by the goodness of Mademoiselle, and that she would be back in an incredibly short space of time; after which exhortation, Madame Rose prepared to accompany Rachel.
In vain, poor Rachel, alarmed at the prospect of her mother's anger, endeavoured to explain that she would bring the dress. Madame Rose, still triumphantly asserting that she understood, insisted on going out with her guest, and actually walked with her to her very door. In great trepidation, Rachel opened it, and unconscious of peril or offence, Madame Rose entered, clattering along the passage in her wooden shoes; but Mrs. Brown's voice was just then at the loudest; the noise was not heeded.
Rachel took her up-stairs to the little back-room, and left her there, whilst she looked in the room which she shared with her mother, for the dress she wished to give Mimi; she soon came back with it, tied in a parcel, and now devoutly wished that she could see Madame Rose safe out of the place. But Madame Rose was in no mood to go. She had recognized the room and window where she so often saw Rachel; and she intimated as much, by a lively pantomime; first taking up a book, she held it before her, pretending to read; then she pointed to her forehead, to imply that Rachel was a thinker; and finally, to the horror and dismay of Rachel, Madame Rose shut her eyes, opened her mouth, and warbled a sufficiently correct imitation of the old hundredth.
The window was open; and even Mrs. Brown's voice could not drown these strange tones. They reached the ear of Mrs. Gray; and before Rachel had fairly recovered from the surprise and alarm into which the musical outburst of Madame Rose had thrown her, her step-mother appeared at the door of the little back room, and, in stern and indignant accents, asked to know the meaning of what she heard and saw. But, before Rachel could reply, the French costume of Madame Rose had betrayed her.
Mrs. Gray was of Scotch descent, and she had some of the old puritan spirit, to which, in the course of a long life, she had added a plenteous store of stubborn English prejudices.
Madame Rose was "an idolatrous furriner!" "a French beggar!" too; and that she should have darkened her doors!—that she should be familiarly sitting under her roof—chattering and singing in a back room, with her daughter, was an intolerable insult, a wrong not to be borne.