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£ ,
2R,OSA_.
Translated for Woman’s Work* by Miss Fannie
L. Mitchell.
CHAPTER I.
“It is not true! I tell you it is not true!”
exclaimed a little girl crimson with anger,
in an imperious voice, stamping her foot
as her nurse tried in vain to keep her still,
while she was putting on her a dress of dark
blue merino, the waist of which she had
just finished. I
“ I wish it was not, my poor darling,”
replied the nurse, whose eyes were so dim
with tears, that a slight trembling of her
hand prevented her putting in the pin she
held*
“Your papa told me several days ago,
but he forbade me to speak to you of it.
Poor angel, it is only too true. I have had
trouble enough swallowing my tears all this
time; it almost broke my heart to see you
playing and laughing as usual. Now there
is no longer any way to keep it from you,
•ince we start to-morrow.”
“To-morrow! O, no, I will not start to
morrow. They cannot force me to start!
Why does papa wish me to go away ? I
have not made him angry, he has never
scolded me. lam going to him, and lam
going to tell him that I—”
“ Listen, Miss Rosa, I must tell you every
thing. Your father would be happy never
to be separated from you, for he loves you
better than anything in the world; but it
must be otherwise. A few days ago he
was rich, he could indulge all your fancies;
but he has lost his whole fortune, and is
going to a strange country to regain it,
where they pick up gold by the handful.
He will return, and you will yet be rich
and happy. You will have more beautiful
dresses than any of your friends.”
“What is that tome if I must leave papa
now 1” cried Rosa, who had listened to this
talk with a mixture of impatience and as
tonishment. “ Ought he not to know that
I would rather have only one calico dress
and be with him ? Quick, quick, dear
nurse, takeoff this waist, and let me go!”
Before her pretty cashmere dress of
Scotch pink could be well fastened, Rosa
had slipped from under her nurse’s hands,
and bounded from the chamber.
In another room in the same suite of
apartments, a man still young, with an
anxious expression, was seated before a
massive desk with innumerable drawers.
For the hundreth time, he had finished a
calculation, which for the hundreth time
led to this conclusion: “I no longer
have anything; there remains nothing to
do but to go away.”
He cast a sad look around the room that
he had occupied so many years; where
he had known great joys, and one great
sorrow, for it was here that Rosa’s mother
had died a short time after the birth of this
only child. He kept his eyes fixed for a
moment upon her portrait that was hung
oyer the arm-chair in which she had so
often sat by his side as he worked; then he
turned away, thinking bitterly that, though
>e could carry away this lifeless image of
w he had loved so well, her living image—
her child—must be left behind. His heart
ached so painfully he would have been glad
to weep; but this relief was not granted
him, and burying his face in his hands, he
remained for a long time absorbed in a
painful struggle.
Suddenly the door opened and Rosa
paused on the threshold, arrested in her
impetuous movement by the expression of
her father’s face.
“ What do you want,my child ?” he asked,
raising his head, “I cannot be disturbed
now.”
Without allowing herself to be| intimi
dated by this cold reception, to which she
was accustomed, Rosa ran to her father,
put her arms about his neck, drew his
head down to a level with her own, the
better to look into his eyes with her two
great ones still wet with tears, and
exclaimed:
“ Papa, tell me that it is not true! Tell
me that you do not wish to send me far
away from you! Ido not want to leave
you! I will not leave you when you
are sad and ill— yes ill, I am sure of
it, for I have never seen you so pale, and
your hands are burning, papa, am I not
your little girl that you love? How will
you have the heart to send me away? Oh!
papa, tell me quick, that it is all a wicked
story of my nurse’s, that she is a naughty
woman, to frighten me so!”
While speaking the little girl had nestled
upon her father’s knee, and laid her head
against his breast, and looked at him with
beseeching eyes.
Mr. De Lastes pressed her to his heart a
long time without trying to speak. At
length, he gently pushed her away, and
seated her near him upon a chair, as if to
make her understand that he did not wish
to treat her like a child, but to appeal to
her reason; he put his hand upon her head.
“My darling,” he said, “ you will soon
be nine years old, you are old enough to
know the meaning of the words, necessity
and duty. Up to this time I have only
asked one thing of you—to be happy; I
was wrong perhaps; it might have been
better if I had been more strict, and had
not thought that I could make your life
one long holiday. But I think I can still
rely upon your reason. Are you listening
to me, my child?”
“Yes, papa,” replied Rosa m a firm voice,
turning her face to him, with an attentive,
serious look. She was sitting upright, and
her face was radiant with pride and pleas
ure, at being considered a reasonable being,
“ I have lost everything I possessed, my
child,” continued Mr. De Lastes, “ I can
not explain to you how it happened, be
cause you could not understand it. It is
sufficient for you to know, that when I
have paid my debts, I will only have money
enough to pay my passage to America, and
a small sum with which to try to rebuild
my fortune.”
“ But why do you not take me with you,
papa?”
“My child, it is impossible. When I
go away I cannot live as I do here; I shall
have no house, nor carriage nor servants.
Even your nurse would be an additional
expense that I could not permit.”
“ But I can do without my nurse,” said
Rosa resolutely. ‘I assure you. papa, I
can. The other day, I tried,
just for fun, to dress myself,
and I succeeded in fastening
everything except the last
button of my dress.”
“My dear child, I do not
doubt either your skill or your
good will; but admitting that
you can dress yourself, and
wait upon yourself, what
would you do alone during
the long days, while I was
away at work ? Do you
think I would have courage or
freedom of mind, knowing
that my little girl was alone
in a strange land where I
know no one to whom I could
trust her?”
Rosa hung her head, for she
felt that this argument ad
mitted no reply.
“Where am I going?” she
asked in a subdued voice.
“That remains for me to
tell you, my child,” replied
Mr. De Lastes, again drawing
her upon his knees, while he
took both her hands in one of
nis. “I have an aunt whom
I have not seen for many
years, but whose goodness I
know; it is to her I am going
to send you. She lives in a
pretty country house, entirely
alone with an old servant,
who is perfectly devoted to
her; your nurse will accom
pany you to the railroad sta
tion nearest her house. I
have written to my good aunt
Darcy to send there for you.”
“ Will Virginia not remain
with me?” asked Rosa.
“ No, my child, she returns
to her family; I can no longer
pay her wages.”
While making this answer, Mr. De Las
tes looked at his daughter with a certain
uneasiness, doubting the effect of this com
munication. Rosa did not appear to be
moved by it. She made a sign of assent,
as if her heart was too burdened with im
pressions for any new pain to hurt her.
“Now, leave me, dear child, I have to
work,” said her father. Rosa obeyed im
mediately, and went slowly out; but when
she reached the door, she turned, came
back, laid her head against her father’s
cheek, and asked in a low voice. . “When
will you return |
“ Soon, my beloved child, soon* replied
Mr. De Lastes, kissing her on the forehead.
She returned to her chamber so calm
and quiet, that her nurse thought for a
moment that her father had yielded, and
Rosa was not going away. But she was
soon undeceived, for the child opened a
large bureau which contained part of’her
wardrobe, and said in a voice that made
Virginia tremble:
“Since we are going away to-morrow,
I must pack my trunk.”
“Lord bless you, my dear angel, my
sweet dove,” said the nurse with a stupid
look. “ Who would have expected such a
change 1”
“ I shall not take this or that,” said Rosa
putting aside certain dresses that were too
fine for her new position.
“ What a pity that you will no longer
wear those pretty dresses. The last time
you went to the Tuileries you had on that
sky blue dress and your hat with the plume
in it. You looked as pretty as a pink.
Everybody was looking at you. Now
there will be nobody about you but two
old women who do not know the difference
between a pretty face and a pumpkin.”
“ What does that matter to me?”
“ The Lord only knows how they will
arrange your beautiful hair. Who will
take care of these locks so fine and silky?
Ah! Miss Rosa, if your father had wished
it, I would have followed you to this hole,
where you are going to live. It troubles
me to think that you will have no one to
take care of you and wait upon you.”
“Papa will have no one to wait upon
him. I had rather do like him.”
“ But you will have no one there to love
you.”
“ Perhaps my aunt will love me.”
“Oh! don’t count on the affections of those
old mummies, dried up forty years ago
with egotism. Don’t, speak to me about
those peoplel”
“ But, Virginia, papa said my aunt was
very good.”
“ I ask nothing better.”
After this conversation Rosa felt that
the courage that had sustained her for a
moment was fast dying out. She went to
bed early, and wept bitterly for twenty
minutes, that she in good faith thought
was almost all night. When she fell asleep
at last, her body was still shaken by sobs,
and her sleep troubled with confused
dreams, full of sadness and vague appre
hensions for the morrow.
When day came, she was entirely un
strung, and much less heroic than th6 day
While the nurse dressed her for the jour
ney, she wept and stamped alternately,
according as the spoilt child, or the child
initiated for several hours to real sorrow,
had the predominating influence. At last,
her father pressed her to his heart for the
last time, and dropped a tear upon her
head, that contained more sorrow and bit
terness than all those that flowed in streams
down the cheeks of his child. Yet he had
seen that she had strength of character, and
was capable of self-control, and he felt re
assured as to her future. He could have
felt still more so, if he had been able by
faith and prayer to place her in the hands
of Him of whom we can say, that which He
guards, is well guarded.
chapter 11.
“ Martha, come here a moment, please.”
“ What do you want, ma’am?”
“I have just received a letter.”
“ I know that, of course; I was the one
who brought it to you.”
“Yes, but you do not know that it an
nounces a remittance that interests you, as
much as it does me.”
“ Is it some more tea of the best quality,
or some old wine like your nephew sent you
last year?”
“No, indeed, it is something quite differ
ent. My nephew has met with considera
ble pecuniary losses. He is about to leave
for America, where he hopes to re-establish
his business, and he asks me to take his
little girl during his absence.”
“ And what are you going to do, ma’am?”
“I do not know indeed, what would you
advise, Martha?” asked the old lady, rais
ing her eyes with an uneasy look.
“It seems to me a very simple matter.
You must write to your nephew that you
cannot be made a convenience of, in this
manner; that he can easily find a good
boarding house for his little girl. Have a
child in this house! mercy ! The most quiet
house in the whole country, where you
never hear one word louder than another,
and that has always been as clean and tidy
as a picture. The very idea puts me beside
myself! I had rather leave the house my
self this very day, and never put my foot
in it again.”
“ But, Martha, there is no time to refuse;
the child is coming to-morrow—she is on
the way now. We cannot do otherwise
than to receive her.”
“Then why did you ask my advice?”
“Do be reasonable, Martha. What do
‘you want me to do?”
“Whatever you please, ma’am; if you
desire to make the house uninhabitable, I
have nothing to say.”
Speaking thus, Martha shut the door, in
a surly manner, and for a long time after
ward Mrs. Darcy heard a bustle and stir
in the kitchen,which betrayed her irritation.
Yet, Martha was neither wicked nor
selfish. She was one of those types, rare in
our day, of what servants formerly were.
Devoted, active, familiar,even rude, she had
a love for her mistress, which for years
had been the ruling passion of her life.
They lived in the greatest intimacy. The
door of the kitchen—where Martha had
ruled despotically formore than ten years—
opened into the room where—for the same
period—Mrs. Darcy had each day pursued
the regular and monotonous routine of
peaceful occupation that filled her life.
Every morning, at the same hour, after
having most carefully made her toilette,
she would seat herself in the large arm
chair that Martha placed near the fire in
winter, and near the window in summer.
While the kettle sang upon the hearth,
Mrs. Darcy opened the big Bible that was
placed before her upon a small table, took
her spectacles from the case, wiped them
carefully, and read in a low, monotonous
voice, the chapter for the day. Then she
knelt down and read a prayer.
She had been a widow for many years,
and had never had a child. Her husband’s
death had made a great change in' her po
sition, and had compelled her to leave an
elegant home, and buy the small house,
surrounded by a narrow garden, in which
we find her. Martha having participatedin
her mistress’ prosperity, also shared her pri
vations. She worked the little garden, which
yielded vegetables enough tc supply their
frugal board, and flowers enough to orna
ment, for the greater part of the year, the
mantel-piece of the room which served
both for a bed-room and a dining-room.
Besides, she had built a chicken house, and
the eggs of the pretty white and speckled
hens, whose clucking alone broke the silence
of this abode, was one of their great re
sources in housekeeping.
Martha always cherished the idea, that
if any unexpected visitor should call out
her old talent for cooking, a chicken was
always there, ready to keep her, in the
nick of time, from any embarrassment.
“You see', ma’am, I arrange things so I
can never be taken by surprise. If compa
ny should happen to come in without send
ing you word, give yourself no anxiety; I
have a plan in my head well arranged, and