That night, however, she had Bertha’s dinner sent to her room, and also made arrangements to have her coffee served there in the morning, so it was not until lunch that she had her first experience as second-class. The hall, which was not used for the servants of the house, who had their meals elsewhere, was a long room on the ground-floor, and there she found assembled a mixed company of nurses, maids, couriers, and valets, all talking together in a babel of tongues, English, French, German, Italian, Russian, and Greek, and all so earnest that they did not see the graceful young woman who, with a heightened color and eyes which shone like stars as they took in the scene, walked to the only vacant seat she saw, which was evidently intended for her, as it was next the courier Browne. But when they did see her they became as silent as if the king himself had come into their midst, while Browne rose to his feet, and with a respectful bow held her chair for her until she was seated, and then asked what he should order for her. Browne, who was a respectable middle-aged man and had traveled extensively with both English and Americans, had seen that Bertha was superior to her employer, and had shown her many little attentions in a respectful way. He had heard from Celine that she was coming to the second salon, and resented it more, if possible, than Bertha herself, resolving to constitute himself her protector and shield her from every possible annoyance. This she saw at once, and smiled gratefully upon him. No one spoke to her, and silence reigned as she finished her lunch and then left the room with a bow in which all felt they were included.
“By Jove, Browne, who is that person, and how came she here? She looks like a lady,” asked an English valet, while two or three Frenchmen nearly lost their balance with their fierce gesticulations, as they clamored to know who the grande mademoiselle was.
Striking his fist upon the table to enforce silence, Browne said:
“She is a Miss Leighton, from America, and far more a lady than many of the bediamonded and besatined trash above us. She is in my party as madam’s companion, and whoever is guilty of the least impertinence towards her in word or look will answer for it to me; to me, do you understand?” And he turned fiercely towards a wicked-looking little Frenchman, whose bad eyes had rested too boldly and too admiringly upon the girl.
“Mon Dieu, oui, oui, oui!” the man replied, and then in broken English asked, “Why comes she here, if she be a lady?”
It was Celine who answered for Browne:
“Because her mistress is a cat, a nasty old cat,—as the English say. And there is a pair of them. I heard them last night saying she must be put down, and they have put her down here. I hate them, and mine most of all. She tries to get me cheap. She keeps me fly-fly. She gives me no pourboires. She sleeps me in a dog-kennel. Bah! I stay not, if good chance come. L’Amèricaine hundred times more lady.”
This voluble speech, which was interpreted by one to another until all had a tolerably correct idea of it, did not diminish the interest in Bertha, to whom after this every possible respect was paid, the men always rising with Browne when she entered the dining-hall and remaining standing until she was seated. Bertha was human, and such homage could not help pleasing her, although it came from those whose language she could not understand, and who by birth and education were greatly her inferiors. It was something to be the object of so much respect, and when, warmed by the bright smile she always gave them, the Greeks, and the Russians, and the Italians, not only rose when she entered the hall, but also when she passed them outside, if they chanced to be sitting, she felt that her life had some compensations, if it were one of drudgery and menial service.
True to her threat, Celine left when a more desirable situation offered, and Mrs. Hallam did not fill her place. “No need of it, so long as you have Miss Leighton and pay her what you do,” Mrs. Haynes said; and so it came about that Bertha found herself companion in name only and waiting-maid in earnest, walking demurely by the covered chair which each morning took Mrs. Hallam to her bath, combing that lady’s hair, mending and brushing her clothes, carrying messages, doing far more than Celine had done, and doing it so uncomplainingly that both Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. Haynes wondered at her. At last, however, when asked to accompany Mrs. Haynes to the bath, she rebelled. To serve her in that way was impossible, and she answered civilly, but decidedly, “No, Mrs. Hallam. I have done and will do whatever you require for yourself, but for Mrs. Haynes, nothing. She never spares an opportunity to humiliate me. I will not attend her to her bath. I will give up my place first.” That settled it, and Bertha was never again asked to wait upon Mrs. Haynes.