“Hoping my letter is satisfactory, I am
“Your obedient servant,
“Louis Arnaud.”
“Madame Henri La Rue, Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard, Mass. U. S. A.,” Reinette kept repeating to herself, while a feeling of terror took possession of her, and made her for a moment powerless to move or reason clearly. “Who is this Madame La Rue, and where have I seen her?” she asked herself in a bewildered kind of way, and then at last it came to her who Mrs. La Rue was, and where she had seen her.
“Margery’s mother! Christine Bodine! impossible!” she cried, reading Louis Arnaud’s letter again and again, while her thoughts went backward, and with lightning rapidity gathered up every incident connected with Mrs. La Rue which had seemed strange to her, and made her dislike the woman for her unwarrantable familiarity.
As distinctly as if it were but yesterday she recalled their first meeting in Paris in Margery’s receiving-room, when Mrs. La Rue had stared at her so, and seemed so strange and queer; and since then she had so often offended with what appeared like over-gratitude for kindness shown to Margery.
“And all the time when I was talking of my nurse and my desire to find her, she knew she was Christine and made no sign,” Queenie said; “and once she bade me stop searching for her, as finding her might bring more pain than pleasure. What does she mean, and why does she not wish me to know who she is? Was there anything wrong about her—No, no, no!” and Reinette almost shrieked as she said the emphatic “no’s.” “Mother trusted her; mother loved her. I have it in her own words written to papa. ‘Christine is faithful and tender as if she were my mother, instead of my maid; and if I should die, you must always be kind to her for what she has been to me,’ she wrote, and that’s why he sent her the money. But why has she never told me? What has she done? What is she? Yes, she was right. It is more pain than pleasure to find her; but if she had only told me who she was, it would have been such joy to know she was Margery’s mother—my Margery still, thank God, for she has had no part in this concealment. She has no suspicion that Christine Bodine and her mother are one and the same.”
This mention of Margery helped Reinette, and the pain in her heart was not quite so heavy, or her resentment toward Mrs. La Rue so great. She was Margery’s mother, and whatever happened, Reinette would stand by the girl whom she loved so much.
“Please, mademoiselle, have you heard the bell; it has rung three times, and dinner is growing cold,” Pierre said, putting his head in at the door; and then Reinette roused herself to find that it was getting dark, for the November twilight was fast creeping into the room.