Stories with a Vengeance — page 122: what you’re looking at

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120 dush into the cab, and in a moment have|his nmth year) disappeared in the midst of a dry cloud of Paris dust. Away, through the cool summer breeze that played with the boy’s curls and raised a tremulous blush on his cheeks ; away, past familiar trees and sedate villas, and tiny winding streams, which the rain had made for the express purpose apparently of enabling little boys to sail tiny boats in; galloping over wooden bridges, that sang in boisterous chorus to the animated melody of the horse’s hoofs; past angular pieces of green wayside verdure, where the fairies had imprinted little rings when dancing in the moonlight; nigh to miniature cottages, embowered with flowers and runners, and so small that surely none but fairies could inhabit them; past dark*and dismal forests, that frowned suspiciously upon the tra- vellers—away sped the horse with its burthen, until it reached far off villages, where the great metropolis was looked upon as something very important to be spoken of,. but, by reason of its distance, very rarely to be visited. ‘“‘Bea good boy always, dear Evremond,” whispered the faithful servant, choked with grief, as they neared the Chateau Rouge, “and Madame Massilon will be a—will be very kind to you.” She had almost said those touching words, “be a mother to you,” but she reflected that the associations of that sacred word “mother” would scarcely arouse in the mind of this deeply wronged orphan the full meaning of the affection and solicitude which might perchance be showered upon him. ‘Oh, Jeanette, and will you, then, leave me P” asked the terrified child, clinging to her horny hand, and kissing it frantically. “ Alas, I must!” she cried. “But be courageous, Evremond. Remember your father was a brave soldier. Ah, would that he were here! But be brave, my child!” ‘The boy wept. “Look, Evremond! I have a present for you, and I will give it you only if you promise me that you will bea good boy, and try and be an honour to that dear father who is now in another world. See! I took that for you,mychild! It belonged to your papa, Colonel De Mouvrier, who wore it next his heart. It is your mother’s miniature. Keep jt, child, for hissake. It is yours by right.” The cab now stopped before an iron gate fronting a villa built in the style of a Swiss chalet, and surrounded by ancient firs. Evremond glanced tearfully through the massive bars, and perceived a little girl as tall as himself (he was now approaching Google THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND. painted india-rubber bal _As the cab pulled up she sprang, with the lightness of a fairy, towards the gate, her straw hat, which was trimmed with blue, falling upon the lawn, and her profuse light hair flying behind her in most lovable disorder. “ Mamma!” she cried joyously. Then, with the sudden impetuosity which characterized her first movements, she flew up the steps and hastily rang the hall bell. Soon Madame Massilon appeared. She was a little brunette, rather stout, but ani- mated and lively, her dark eyes wandering from Jeanette to Evremond with much vivacity and good nature. “Ah, little Evremond—poor, delicate child! Iam glad he has come; Marie will be a rare playmate for him. This way, my dear. We shall go in by the door in the rear, for there, in our favourite room, Marie has prepared a pretty feast for you.” Jeanette would not leave the carriage. Her unsophisticated heart was already breaking at the thought of parting, or with the knowledge of the effort that would in- ones be required of her to say “ Good- y e.” So she contented herself with clasping the boy in her arms and kissing his fore- head, and muttering through ler sobs some words, which meant, “ Farewell, E¥re- mond; don’t forget poor Jeanette,” after which she fell back, weeping loudly, in the corner of the carriage. Evremond recollected hearing the crack - of a whip, the clang of the gates, the sound of the horse dashing back to Paris, after which his eyes seemed to grow dim, and he fainted. | Kind voices murmured sweetly in his ears ere he thoroughly returned to conscious- ness. When he opened his eyes he discovered himself lying on a soft couch ina pretty little room, with red wall-paper and cool muslin curtains that waved by the side of the window, which fronted a picturesque garden. Two wistful eyes, blue and deep as the fathomless ocean, were observing him. “Iwas the little Marie, who, when he moved, warningly held up her finger to her mamma not to make a noise, though all the time she had longed so fervently that he would speak to her. “He is very weak, poor child; we shall have to take as great care of him as we would a delicate flower,” murmured Madame Massilon, administering to Evremond some cordial taken from the mysterious depths of.a cupboard. * Poor little flower !” said Marie, smooth- saying with a prettily > a JOO S CO)