“Then you are certainly my niece, though what in the world you are doing here is more than I can see. Dick is well, is he? But come in. You shall tell me all about it later.”
He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and without a glance or word for the Orderly drew her up the brick stairs and through the hall, whose stairway was beautiful enough for a palace with its elaborate, fantastic, hand-wrought iron railing, and on to the door of a salon. A beautiful woman swept graciously forward to meet them. She was very dark with brilliant black eyes and silky hair of raven hue. Her manner was easy, graceful and rather impassioned, and her features showed unmistakably her French descent.
“Clarisse,” said the gentleman, “this is my niece who has honored us with a visit. I think that I have told you of my brother, Richard. She is his daughter and is from New York City.”
“Mais!” exclaimed the lady, with a laugh and speaking with a decidedly French accent. “You surprise me! I knew not that you had a niece. Why did you not tell me? It is one bad husband you are not to tell me of the dear demoiselle. You are welcome, child. She resembles you, mon ami,” taking Jeanne’s face between her hands and giving her a long look. “We shall be great friends, my dear. Is it not so?”
“Yes;” Jeanne’s lips quivered and her eyes filled suddenly with tears at this unexpected greeting. Her mission had ended so differently from the way she had anticipated;–the doubt of her loyalty and the knowledge that her uncle was a rebel had filled her heart with misgivings so that this welcome was almost more than she could bear. But as this gleam of sunshine comforted her, she steeled herself against its influence and drew herself up bravely.
“I must tell you something,” she said, “before you welcome me too warmly. I am for the Union.”
She did not dare to look at them as she spoke. Her thought was that they must know her principles before going further. She was homesick and longing for love and tenderness, but not for one moment would she receive them under false pretenses. A glance flashed from husband to wife and then a clear, silvery laugh rang out as the lady caught her to her.
“You dear little Yankee! you are too ridiculous for anything! Did you think we would turn you out because you were not a rebel? Well, we are rebels, my dear, but as we have to stand that odious, uncouth General Butler of yours I think we won’t mind a little thing like you. Come now, and I will take you to your room and you shall rest. Then you shall tell us why you have come all this way to see us at such a time.”
Jeanne returned her caresses with fervor, and abandoned herself to the delight of being fondled and petted again as only children can do who have been deprived of endearments after being accustomed to them.
“They are nice people,” she whispered as the lady left her in a cool quiet room. “I wonder if it is wrong to like them? But it is father’s brother, and I ought to love them. Oh, I do wish they were not rebels! How can they be traitors when they are so good!”