“Pardon me, my aunt! But—locusts? Really?”
“Really! fried in olive oil; crisp, and not at all bad. The Sheik could not eat with us, we being Infidels, but he sent us coffee, and was very friendly. Indeed, he offered to buy me. I was too old for a wife, he said, but he liked my talk, and thought I would do for a mother. I never was so flattered in my life; but my Professor decided to keep me. We had water that night to wash in; a small pitcherful, but still water, a great luxury. For a week we had washed in sand. But yes, certainly!” at Honor’s exclamation of amazement. “It is often so in the desert, where there isn’t water enough to drink. Sand is efficacious, but gritty. Ah! here come our friends.”
The girls entered on the stroke of seven, blushing and twittering, shepherded by Soeur Séraphine in her gray dress and spotless coif.
“She looks like a Princess of the Blood!” murmured Mrs. Damian. “Learn to hold yourself like that, Honor, and your hair may be red or green or piebald, it will not matter. Good evening, my Sister! I am delighted to see you. Young ladies, you are very welcome.”
Mrs. Damian’s French was that of one who to a natural gift has added fifty years of practice; nevertheless, she spoke English now, having divined with her lightning instinct that the Sister’s one little heavenly vanity was her English.
“Ze plaisir—pardon!—ze plaisure is teetotally to oz, madame! Be’old oz gazzered as von ’eart, von speerit, von sentiment, to greet you and our beloved young friend. Honor, all to thee, my little one! My children, English!”
The last words were a swift aside to the girls, and brought comfort or disaster, according to one’s nationality. All very well for Patricia and Maria, though the latter could only mumble, not having the gift of tongues, scarcely even of her own. Vivette enunciated neatly her “Good evening, Mrs. and Miss. ’Ow do you carry yourself?” and passed on, swelling visibly with modest pride. Rose Marie and most of the others escaped with a polite murmur which might have been English or Choctaw. But poor Stephanie! she had hoped to escape speech altogether by keeping well behind the Sister’s ample robes. English was to her an “apoplexy of a language,” and she rather made a point of not knowing any. But now little Loulou, who had spoken very nicely, and who had her own idea of what was proper, gave a shrewd pinch to Stephanie’s arm, at the very instant when Soeur Séraphine, extending a firm hand, drew her inexorably forward into full view.
“Aie! goodnight!” shrieked Stephanie, bobbing a distracted courtesy.
The girls tittered; Soeur Séraphine flushed. Mrs. Damian’s lips twitched for a moment, but she rose to the occasion.
“I am glad to see you, my dear!” she said cordially. “You are Stephanie Langolles, I think? You are to sit next Honor at supper. And there is the bell this minute!” she added. “Let us come in without ceremony; Honor, lead the way with the Sister, will you?”