Within the cabin, the lamp had already been lighted, and Marie Louise was growing restless at Thérèse’s long delay.
“Ah Grosse tante, I’m so tired,” she said, falling into a chair near the door; not relishing the warmth of the room after her quick walk, and wishing to delay as long as possible the necessity of sitting at table. At another time she might have found the dish of golden brown croquignoles very tempting with its accessory of fragrant coffee; but not to-day.
“Why do you run about so much, Tite maîtresse? You are always going this way and that way; on horseback, on foot—through the house. Make those lazy niggers work more. You spoil them. I tell you if it was old mistress that had to deal with them, they would see something different.”
She had taken all the pins from Thérèse’s hair which fell in a gleaming, heavy mass; and with her big soft hands she was stroking her head as gently as if those hands had been of the whitest and most delicate.
“I know that look in your eyes, it means headache. It’s time for me to make you some more eau sédative—I am sure you haven’t any more; you’ve given it away as you give away every thing.”
“Grosse tante,” said Thérèse seated at table and sipping her coffee; Grosse tante also drinking her cup—but seated apart, “I am going to insist on having your cabin moved back; it is silly to be so stubborn about such a small matter. Some day you will find yourself out in the middle of the river—and what am I going to do then?—no one to nurse me when I am sick—no one to scold me—nobody to love me.”
“Don’t say that, Tite maîtresse, all the world loves you—it isn’t only Marie Louise. But no. You must remember the last time poor Monsieur Jérôme moved me, and said with a laugh that I can never forget, ‘well, Grosse tante, I know we have got you far enough this time out of danger,’ away back in Dumont’s field you recollect? I said then, Marie Louise will move no more; she’s too old. If the good God does not want to take care of me, then it’s time for me to go.”
“Ah but, Grosse tante, remember—God does not want all the trouble on his own shoulders,” Thérèse answered humoring the woman, in her conception of the Deity. “He wants us to do our share, too.”
“Well, I have done my share. Nothing is going to harm Marie Louise. I thought about all that, do not fret. So the last time Père Antoine passed in the road—going down to see that poor Pierre Pardou at the Mouth—I called him in, and he blessed the whole house inside and out, with holy water—notice how the roses have bloomed since then—and gave me medals of the holy Virgin to hang about. Look over the door, Tite maîtresse, how it shines, like a silver star.”
“If you will not have your cabin removed, Grosse tante, then come live with me. Old Hatton has wanted work at Place-du-Bois, the longest time. We will have him build you a room wherever you choose, a pretty little house like those in the city.”