“Can you not open the doors in some way?” asked the lady pettishly. “I am tired, mon ami, and if no one is there we might just as well take possession. Private property doesn’t seem to be respected these times.”
Without another word Mr. Vance gave the order, and the two men soon succeeded in forcing an entrance. The fast falling darkness gave weird glimpses of the interior of the residence.
“Remain without,” said her husband hastily, “until I get a light.”
Presently the cheering flash of a fire dispelled the gloom of the dwelling and after being assured that everything was all right within, the lady entered followed by Jeanne and the blacks. The October air was chilly and the warmth of the pine knots was very acceptable.
Jeanne crept into a corner where she could enjoy the blaze and fell into a reverie. The poor child was very miserable. Her aunt and uncle scarcely noticed her or when they did speak to her it was in such great contrast to their former affectionate address that her heart was heavy indeed.
The brightness of the pine knots in the vast fireplace lighted up the room vividly. The apartment seemed to have been the living-room of the family, and its disarrangement showed that the inmates had left its sheltering walls hurriedly. At one end of the room were great spinning wheels with the thread still hanging.
Mr. Vance had drawn up an easy chair to one side of the odorous fire and leaned silently back in its depths apparently lost in thought. His wife was seated near him, the firelight glancing almost caressing on the rich sheen of her hair and the vivid crimson of her cheek and lip. Snowball’s dusky figure flitted back and forth supplying the fire with the rich pine knots as they were required while Jeff and Feliciane were busied in the kitchen trying to get up something for a meal.
Jeanne fell to studying the fair face of the woman before her wondering over and over how one so beautiful could be so cruel.
“Well! Have you finished staring at me?” demanded Madame suddenly. “Have done with your impudence, girl. You make me nervous.”
“I beg your pardon,” murmured Jeanne shrinking from the light in her aunt’s eyes. “I do not wish to make you nervous. I was just thinking––”