Margarita's Soul Part 16

But to return to my trip to Paris. I established my niece comfortably with her friends, and then betook myself to my own devices till such time as she should need me again. I had not been in Paris for eight years (one settles down so _amazingly_ in provincial England!) and I derived great pleasure from the old scenes of my honeymoon, that sad pleasure which is all that is left to women of my age, who have not their grandchildren to renew their youth in!

The Major and I had always been _particularly_ attached to the Gardens of the Luxembourg, and there I went and sat musing many hours on end. One morning as I sat watching the children and their _bonnes_, my ear was caught by a shrill scream and I turned and saw a very handsome young woman, beautifully dressed, dragging a cup and ball away from an angry little French boy. I supposed, of course, that she was his mother or his aunt, and only regretted that she should be so rough and undignified in her manner to him, but when his nurse rushed up and angrily questioned the young woman, who fought her off, still clinging to the toy, I realised that something was wrong, and went over to them. Hardly had I got there when a neat-looking lady's maid ran up, chid the young woman severely, and apologised in a rapid flood of French, that I could not follow, to the nurse. Then it was clear (or so I thought) that the poor creature was _not responsible_ and I tried to soothe her, in a quiet way, till her attendant should leave the _bonne_.

To make a long story short, imagine my surprise when I found that she was not insane at all, only strangely undeveloped.

Her maid explained this to me while the curious young thing (a _bride_, too!) actually made friends with the child and begged the cup and ball away successfully!

She took quite a fancy to me and we talked together in English, as soon as I found out that she was an American.

What an _extraordinary_ nation! It quite makes one giddy to think of them. Fancy a child that had never been taught of the G.o.d who made her nor the Saviour who died for her, in a civilised _Christian_ country! And yet she was naturally very sweet, I found, though high-tempered. She spoke beautiful French (they tell me Americans often do) but she seemed to know very little about her native country and had never seen a red Indian nor a buffalo. The Major always regretted so _deeply_ that he had never hunted in North America.

During our conversation, which I should hardly dare to repeat, it was so _very_ odd, she told me that she was very glad to have found another friend, for now she had three, besides her husband.

"And who are the other two, my dear?" I asked her.

"One is Sue, that is a woman," she answered, "and the other is Jerry, that is a man."

"Jerry? Jerry?" I repeated, for it sounded strangely familiar.

"Yes. Do you know him, too?" she asked eagerly.

"I am afraid not," I said, "but it so happens that I once knew a baby boy whom his mother called Jerry many years ago, in England."

"_My_ Jerry gave me this pearl," she said, and she showed me a beautiful pearl which she wore.

"I do not think it likely that the Jerry I knew would be able to afford such presents," I said _rather stiffly_. You must know, Mr. Jerrolds, that we are still _old-fashioned_ in our ideas in England, and fail to realise the quick growth of your amazing American fortunes!

She persisted, however, and to quiet her I told her that "my Jerry's" right name was Winfred Jerrolds. When she a.s.sured me that it _was_ "her Jerry" and described your appearance (exactly your father's, except that he required a _pince-nez_), I began to believe in the _strange coincidence_, and readily agreed to go home with her. She lived in a charming _appartement_ (I have forgotten the street, but they were _au cinquieme_, and there was a queer little hydraulic lift, which I refused to use, preferring my own feet) and she did the honours of it very prettily, upon the whole, like a child that is just learning, looking to her maid constantly for approval.

This, frankly, did not seem right to me, Mr. Jerrolds. I may be _old-fashioned_, but I cannot think that a woman should learn _etiquette_ from her _maid_, and I must have showed my feeling in my face, for the girl, a capable one, I must say, blushed and said that in her opinion Madame required a governess, a _chaperon_, as it were, and that she believed Monsieur had it in his mind also. I could not help exclaiming that I knew of the _very person_, and most officiously, I know, I wrote down the address of a second cousin of mine, once removed, then in Paris by the merest chance.

She is a Miss Jencks, Mr. Jerrolds, and of _unexceptionable_ family: her great-uncle a bishop, her father a retired army officer. She has been governess to the family of the Governor-General of Canada, thus, as you see, enabling her to know just what would be required in American society (the maid told me that Mr. Bradley was most _aristocratic_ and quite wealthy) and has always a.s.sociated with the _best people_. She is plain, but refined, and unusually well educated, being in Paris now for special art study. She would be moderate in her charges, I am sure, and would take a _real interest_ in young Mrs. Bradley, for she deeply enjoys forming character and manners and has always been considered _most successful_ at it.

I wrote down the address of her _pension_ and left it with the maid, telling her, so that Mr. Bradley would not think me _too_ forward, that I was an old friend of your mother.

Do, if you write to him, say a good word for Miss Jencks, for I am sure he will never regret engaging her.

Before I left, Mrs. Bradley sang for me, accompanying herself on the piano. Her voice is unusually fine, though she does not sing at all in the English way, but more like a _professional_ opera singer. It was rather startling to me.

Barbara Jencks could teach her a little more restraint, I think, to great advantage. But there is no doubt of the beauty of the organ. She is taking lessons of a famous teacher, and the maid says she had made the most _wonderful_ progress in a short time. She is a very loving little creature (I call her little, though she is half a head taller than I!) but though she is so childish, I fancy she has a _very_ strong will and a character of her own. She would have a _great influence_ over anyone that was much with her, I think.

I am sending this letter in care of your mother's old bankers. I hope so much that I may hear that she is alive and well! I was never better myself. I enclose with this long letter a picture of my son. Like your mother, I have but one, and he is _everything_ to me, as I daresay hers is.

I trust that you will not come to England without letting me see you at Bleeks, and remain, my dear Mr. Jerrolds,

Your mother's old friend,

AGATHA UPGROVE.

[FROM ROGER'S DIARY]

PARIS, Feb. 17, '8--

Weather fine and clear for a week. M. well and very happy.

Her voice certainly comes on surprisingly. Mme. M----i very enthusiastic. Miss J. has persuaded her to learn to write.

She makes great progress.

Feb. 24.

To-night we actually gave a little dinner. Friends of Miss J.'s: a sort of practice affair. M. behaved very well, but drank her neighbour's (Miss J.'s cousin's) wine and would not apologise. Miss J. a little inclined to be over-severe, I think. It will be very pleasant to entertain, later, certainly. Spent the morning at the _Bibliotheque Nationale_, reading up _Code Napoleon_. What a man! I never thought enough emphasis laid on that side of him.

Mar. 3.

Bad weather over for the present. Called at the Legation. M.

very quiet and good and looking exquisite in dark blue silk from Sue's crack dressmaker. Enormously admired and very happy. Quite well. Took a few notes to-day on the _Code_. A great lawyer, that man.

Mar. 6.

Wonderful weather, fine and warm. Chestnuts soon starting.

Went to Versailles for the day. M. played cup and ball with R----n, the sculptor, who wants to model her. He gave us a _pet.i.t souper_ and M. behaved perfectly. Miss J. certainly an investment. She cannot drag M. into a cathedral, however.

M. insists they make her feel queer and then hungry. Says her hands get cold. Have told Miss J. cannot have any meddling with religion just yet. (N. B. not at all!) Strange not hearing from Jerry.

Mar. 10.

M. spoke of old home to-day for first time. Remarked on absence of ocean and hoped dog was well. Dog's name appears to be Rosy, which is absurd, as it's not that kind of dog.

Obstinate as usual. Miss J. objects to kissing as a disciplinary measure. M. balks at Kings of England in order, and gets no dessert. Odd thing to have happen to your wife!

She grows sweeter every day. Am getting quite deep into notes on the _Code_. Really enough for a book.

Mar. 15.

Weather still holds. Met Stokes and Remsen of my cla.s.s to-day and went out to St. Cloud with them. Say I look five years younger. Didn't realise I needed the rest, to tell the truth. Suppose we do work too steadily, over there. But I never felt any ill effects from it. Have cabled Jerry at University Club. Remsen swears he saw him in London last week. Doesn't seem possible, or would have known. M. sang to-day at _musicale_ for Mme. M----i. Great success and looked very beautiful. She gets a high colour singing. Hate Frenchmen as much as I ever did. They're more monkey than man. Magnificent new tenor-barytone just discovered--can't recall the name. Wants to sing with M., who was much taken with him. Worked up a few of my notes: Stokes thought well of them.

Mar. 16.

Barytone called while I was out with Miss J. yesterday on business. M. told me that he loved her and admits that he kissed her. Went around to his rooms and gave him a good licking this afternoon: warm work, for he is a big fellow.

M. cannot see anything out of the way in what she did: told me she wished she'd married Jerry, I was so cruel. Miss J.

talked to her like a Dutch uncle. Can't have the child treated too harshly for all the Governor-Generals Canada ever had, and told her so. We all got pretty hot, but nothing would budge M. till Elise happened to confide in her that I was a man in a thousand. This for some reason struck her forcibly and she acted like an angel. Women are certainly strange. Nothing more done on the _Code_.

FLORENCE, Mar. 26.

Have been a week here. M. enjoys it very much. She and Miss J. studying Italian day and night: M. takes to it like a duck to water. Got a grammar myself and began. M. practises faithfully. Some pleasant old ladies I knew in New Haven called on us to-day and M.'s behaviour could not have been better, I thought, though Miss J. objects to her crossing her ankles. She writes very well now. It is better than a play to hear her and Miss J. arguing over points of etiquette. J. explained the theory of the chaperon, but M.

pinned her down to admitting that it did not apply to married women. Then why to her? M. demanded imperiously. J.

shuffled a little, then explained that M. was an exceptional married woman. M. inquired if that meant that she was the only married woman that could not be trusted alone with a man. J. replied "Unfortunately, no, Mrs. Bradley!" M.

scored, in my opinion.