The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“And then she has such beautiful things—so many servants, carriages, horses, chandeliers, and gardens—the most beautiful gardens, and a park ten times as large as this.”

Paul listened to this somewhat coldly. He did not like bragging and could not understand the innocent, imaginative delight which Lucie took in describing a pretty château.

“I used to love to go there and visit grandmama when I lived with Sophie. We lived in another place—a great big city called Châlons. But I loved being with Sophie best. She was not at all like what she is now, but she was the gayest person in Châlons. She wore beautiful pink gowns, and white hats, and feathers, and went to balls every night, but she always had time to look after me. She used to take me in the carriage with her every afternoon to drive, and before she went to a ball she always saw me undressed and in my bed and came to tell me good night. And she looked over my lessons and made me practise my music and did everything for me, just as the other little girls’ mamas did for them. Then something happened—I don’t know what it was—it was something dreadful, though, and I remember the day. It rained very hard, and Captain Ravenel came in the afternoon and was sitting in the drawing-room with Sophie, and Count Delorme came in, and there was a terrible noise, and the door came open, and Count Delorme struck Sophie with his fist hard, and Captain Ravenel caught her in his arms. I was leaning over the baluster, and then Harper ran down, and carried me off, and would not let me go near Sophie, though I heard her crying outside the door, and I cried inside the door just as hard as I could. The next day Harper—that is my nursery governess that takes care of me now and dragged me away yesterday—came and took me in a carriage to the railway station, without letting me say good-by to Sophie, and carried me off to my grandmama’s château.”

Paul was interested enough now. Lucie’s story sounded more and more like a story out of a book.

“When I came to the château, my grandmother—she is Sophie’s grandmama just as much as she is mine—kissed me, and hugged me, and told me I was to live there, but I was very angry because I hadn’t seen Sophie to say good-by even, and I kept asking why Sophie didn’t come to see me or send for me or even write me a letter. I used to write her letters myself—you see, I am ten years old and I can write very well—and I gave them to grandmama to send to Sophie, but I found a whole bunch of my letters half-burned in the grate in grandmama’s room. Then I saw they were deceiving me, so I wrote a letter and I stole a postage stamp, and I knew how to address it to Sophie, but I got no reply. Then I stole some more postage stamps, and wrote some more letters, but I never heard anything about Sophie. I had a governess and music-master, but grandmama never made me study or practise my music as Sophie had done. She let me do everything I wanted except to see or hear from Sophie. No matter what I asked for, grandmama first refused and then she got it for me. She bought me the finest doll in Paris and a little pony and wicker phaeton, and used to take me to the circus—my grandmama lives near Paris, you know—and gave me five francs of my own to spend every Saturday. But I wanted Sophie. At night I would think about her, and cry and cry, and then grandmama would have me put in her bed and she would cry, too, but she would not let me see Sophie. At last I couldn’t eat anything—not even bonbons—and they sent for the doctor, who said grandmama must take me to the sea-shore, but after we came from the sea-shore I missed Sophie more and more, and I cried every night and would not eat, and at last I told grandmama if she did not let me see Sophie I would starve myself to death—I would never eat anything—I would hold my breath until I died—or eat a cake of paint out of my paint-box. Paint is poisonous, you know. Grandmama told me of a little girl who died from eating paint out of her paint-box. At last even the doctor grew frightened, and told grandmama if I did not see my sister Sophie he was afraid I would be very ill, so then—this was two summers ago—she let Harper bring me here, and I stayed a whole week with Sophie. Captain Ravenel is her husband now, and not that hateful Count Delorme, and I didn’t know Captain Ravenel before, but I love him now almost as much as I do Sophie. He is so kind and good, and not a bit cross. Sophie told me that I must be satisfied with my week with her, and must be good, and perhaps grandmama would let me come again, and that when I went back to the Château Bernard I must eat and keep well and not cry any more. I did as Sophie told me, but Sophie doesn’t know grandmama as well as I do. I begged her all last winter to let me come and see Sophie again, and all this spring, and then this summer, but she wouldn’t let me, and then I found out how to manage grandmama.”

Paul listened to this with an interest which bordered, however, on disapproval. He had never heard of small children managing their elders, but Lucie had told him that she was half American, which might account for anything. Paul had heard that the Americans were a wild people, so perhaps even the children did as they pleased. Lucie drew up her little silk-stockinged foot, and settled her skirts around her.

“And how do you suppose I did it? I didn’t eat anything for two days. Grandmama was frightened to death. When I wouldn’t eat, they left cakes around, and beautiful little biscuit, but I knew what that was for and wouldn’t touch them; so after three days grandmama gave in and told me that Harper might bring me to see Sophie, and so I came, and I am to stay two whole weeks, and after this every time I wish to see Sophie, all I will have to do is to stop eating, for that frightens grandmama and she lets me have my own way.”

Paul eyed the bewitching Lucie still with some disapproval.

“But do you think it is right to treat your grandmama so? Isn’t she a good grandmama to you?”