The fortunes of Fifi

by Molly Elliot Seawell

The carriage arrived, and the party set out. Louis Bourcet regarded Fifi with an eye of extreme favor. She had never asserted herself, or contradicted any one, or said a dozen words consecutively, since she had been with Madame Bourcet; and she had a hundred thousand francs of her own.

Louis thought he could not have found a wife better suited to him if she had been made to order. As she was the granddaughter to the Pope’s cousin, her experiences in the street of the Black Cat were evenly balanced by her other advantages.

As they jolted soberly along, Fifi’s mind was busy with her provident scheme of guarding against banks. When they reached the bank—a large and imposing establishment—they were ushered into a private room, where sat several official-looking persons. A number of transfers were made in writing, the money was produced, counted, and placed in Fifi’s tin box.

This ended that part of the formalities. Then the box was to be sealed up and placed in a strong box hired from the bank. Fifi herself carried the tin box under her cloak, and, accompanied by Madame Bourcet and Louis, went to another apartment in the bank, from which they were taken to the strong room in the basement. There Fifi solemnly handed over her tin box to be tied and sealed, and accepted a receipt for it; and it was put away securely in a little dungeon of its own.

Never was a parcel of old shoes treated with greater respect, for in it reposed the contents of Fifi’s reticule, while in the reticule peacefully lay a hundred thousand francs. It had been done under the noses of Madame Bourcet and Louis—and with the utmost neatness—for Fifi was accustomed to acting, and was in no way discomposed by having people about her, but was rather steadied and emboldened.

On the return home in the carriage Louis Bourcet treated her with such distinguished consideration that he was really afraid his attentions, including the numerous games of cribbage, were compromising, but Fifi noted him not. Her mind was fixed on the contents of her reticule, and the superior satisfaction it is to have one’s money safe in a mattress where one can get at it, instead of being locked up in a bank where everybody could get at it except one’s self.

That night, while Madame Bourcet snored and snoozed peacefully, Fifi, by the light of a solitary candle, was down on her knees, sewing her money up in the mattress. She made a hard little knob of it right in the middle, so she could feel it every time she turned over in bed. Then, climbing into bed, she slept the sleep of conscious innocence and peace.

The next event in Fifi’s life was to be her presentation to the Holy Father. For this Madame Bourcet severely coached Fifi. She was taught how to walk, how to speak, how to curtsey, how to go in and how to go out of the room on the great occasion. Fifi learned with her new docility and obedience, but had a secret conviction that she would forget it all as soon as the occasion came to use it.

A week or two after Fifi had rescued her money from the bank the day arrived for her presentation to the Holy Father, who had personally appointed the time. Since Fifi’s journey from Italy in her childhood, she had never been so far from the street of the Black Cat as Fontainebleau, and the length and expense of the journey impressed her extremely. Louis Bourcet did not accompany Madame Bourcet and Fifi on the visit, but it was understood that Madame Bourcet should present his application for Fifi’s hand.

It was a soft, mild day in February, with a hint of spring in the air, that they set forth in a rickety coach for Fontainebleau. Fifi wore the hideous brown gown with the green spots in it, and felt exactly as she did the night she played Léontine in the blue silk robe with the grease spot in the back. If the grease spot had been noticed everything would have been ruined—and if the Holy Father should notice the brown gown! Fifi felt that it would mean wholesale disaster. She comforted herself, however, with the reflection that the Holy Father probably knew nothing about ladies’ gowns; and then, she had never forgotten the extreme kindness of the Holy Father’s eyes the night she peered at him in the coach.