“Yes, missus,” responded the sobbing creature as she was helped upon her feet.
“Now come, Jeanne, and we will go for our drive. You have no idea how troublesome these blacks are, my dear. One has to keep an iron hand upon them to hold them in subjection. But of course you are not used to them.”
“No,” said Jeanne shrinking a little from her caresses. “We don’t have slavery at the North. I never felt so thankful of it before. Poor things! Poor things!”
Madame Vance’s brow darkened, but she smoothed the girl’s hair softly.
“And aren’t you going to forgive your poor ‘Cherie’? Are you going to turn against her because of a little whipping? You are unjust, Jeanne. We who have the blacks to deal with know more of this matter than you do. Besides did I not give it up when you asked me?”
“Forgive me,” answered Jeanne trying to feel the same toward the beautiful woman as she had before, but too full of the recent horror to do so. “I am not used to such things, Cherie, and it will take some time for me to get over them.”
“We will say no more about it, you quaint one, but go for our drive.”
And soon they were out in the bright sunshine, the lady pointing out places of interest as she had often done before, but it seemed to the girl that she was trying to impress upon her mind the location of some of the streets particularly.
“Now,” said Madame after they had returned to the villa and were partaking of refreshments, “now you shall show me again the lunch basket with its curious hiding-place. How clever your father must be, child! I long to know him.”
“I wish we could go to him,” sighed Jeanne as she obediently brought the basket and showed once more the place where the quinine had been concealed.