Mimi was a very lovely little girl in outward appearance, her hair and eyes being of a most brilliant black, and she wore the dress of the peasants of Normandy, a province which borders close on Picardy. D’Elsac could not so easily distinguish her companion, though she was evidently an elder sister, and she, too, wore the Norman costume. This dress consisted of a full red striped petticoat, a jacket with short sleeves, and an apron with pockets.
He saw, however, that she was not behind her younger sister in beauty, and though speaking
with earnestness to the child, when Dorsain first beheld her, her manner was gentle, and her countenance calm and serene.
“My dearest Mimi,” she said, “I want you to understand thoroughly, why I refused to listen to Monsieur le Prieur, when he came to talk to me. He wanted me to try with my own sisters Caliste and Lisette for the rose, and supposing I had agreed to do so, what would have been the consequences, my dear Mimi? I love them dearly now, and I believe they love me; but were I to gain the rose from them, they would be vexed, and if I lost it after trying for it, I should be disappointed, and very likely I should be cross and jealous.”
“You are never cross, Victorine,” replied the child, “so that you certainly have a better right than Caliste or Lisette to the rose, and then, too, we shall have fine work here, if they are rivals for the rose, and either of them has a chance of getting it.”
“Alas! I fear,” exclaimed Victorine, sorrowfully, “alas! I fear so, Mimi, I could almost find it in my heart to hope that neither will be chosen.”
“But you forget,” replied Mimi, “how we manage these things in Salency, you have only
been at one of our yearly fêtes, whilst I have been to ten, and five of those I can remember very well. Three girls are always chosen, Victorine, by the villagers, not one only, and then the Seigneur takes one from those three—that is the way, you know, and Monsieur Le Prieur wanted you, and Caliste, and Lisette, to be the three chosen. He said it would make the thing so interesting, if three out of one family were striving for the rose.”
“Can it be possible,” said Victorine, all astonishment, “that anybody can be so ignorant of human nature, as to set three sisters to strive against each other, to rouse up envy and jealousy in their minds, to make them grieve to hear that their own sister is looked upon favourably by their neighbours and friends, because by that favourable notice they will he rejected? Young as you are, Mimi, you can see that this fête of the rose must be very wrong, by raising one girl above another, and causing envy, hatred, and malice amongst the rivals for the rose.”
“It is very wrong,” exclaimed the child, after a moment’s thought. “Yes, Victorine, it is very wrong, I am sure, and a fine scene we shall have of it here, which ever way it turns