“Ma cousine” smiled. “Don’t you know, little Eudoxie, that comparisons are odious?” she said playfully. “However, I am glad you think I shall do for a sister. Who is that lady?” she inquired, as at that moment Eudoxie nodded and smiled to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged little English woman in orthodox winter costume of velvet and sealskin, who was passing by.
“I know not,” replied Eudoxie, “I know not her name; I call her Madame Gentille, she always smiles so nicely. She is English, she lives in the Rue St. Louis, and I pass her house in the morning, on my way to school, and she nods to me. She has a husband who is very old, I think, for he never goes out, except in a carriage, and the blinds are never drawn up.”
“Poor thing!” said Cicely compassionately. Her few weeks at Hivèritz had already accustomed her to the sight of some melancholy little family groups. “Perhaps he is not very old, but very ill, Eudoxie.”
“If he were very ill she would look more sad,” said Eudoxie, who had evidently a theory of her own on the subject of her unknown friend’s domestic history. “She does not look sad, she has rosy cheeks, and she is plump and gay. Des fois I hear her laugh when I pass her house and the window of her salon is open. And one morning she was at the door, talking to the confectioner’s boy, who had brought some cakes; she offered me one, it was a macaroon. She spoke with un accent affreux, but she smiled, and the macaroon was very good.”
“And so you call her Madame Gentille?” said Cicely, amused by the child’s chatter. “She has a pleasant face certainly; but I think, Eudoxie,” she went on, “it must be getting late; see, the musicians are preparing to go. Aunt Caroline will be expecting us.”
Aunt Caroline was expecting them. Her kind face was at the door to welcome them, when the cousins reached the little courtyard of No. 31, Rue de la Croix blanche. It was pleasant to be welcomed thus, thought motherless Cicely.
“Dear aunt,” she said impulsively as she met Madame Casalis, and she held up her face for a kiss.
“Dear Cicely!” replied Eudoxie’s mother. Then they went into the little drawing-room together, while the child ran off to her own quarters.
“It is such a happiness to me to have you with us,” said Madame Casalis; “I can not tell you how great a pleasure it is.”
Cicely looked at her gratefully. Already, though barely a month had passed since the girl’s introduction to her mother’s cousin, these two understood each other well.