Pointed Roofs: Pilgrimage Part 26

"Good for you, Hendy," blared Gertrude, in a swinging middle tone.

"Chalk it up. Chalk it up, children," giggled Jimmie.

Millie looked pensively about her with vague disapproval. Her eyebrows were up. It seemed as if anything might happen; as if at any moment they might all begin running in different directions.

"_Cave,_ my dear brats, be artig," came Bertha's cool even tones.

"Ah! we are observed."

"No, we are not observed. The observer observeth not."

Miriam saw her companions looking across the boulevard.

Following their eyes she found the figure of Pastor Lahmann walking swiftly bag in hand in the direction of an opening into a side street.

"Ah!" she cried gaily. "Voila Monsieur; courrez, Mademoiselle!"

At once she felt that it was cruel to draw attention to Mademoiselle when she was dumpy and upset.

"What a fool I am," she moaned in her mind. "Why can't I say the right thing?"

"Ce n'est pas moi," said Mademoiselle, "qui fait les avanses."

The group walked on for a moment or two in silence. Bertha Martin was swinging her left foot out across the curb with each step, giving her right heel a little twirl to keep her balance.

"You are very clever, Bair-ta," said Mademoiselle, still in French, "but you will never make a prima ballerina."

"Hulloh!" breathed Jimmie, "she's perking up."

"Isn't she?" said Miriam, feeling that she was throwing away the last shred of her dignity.

"What was the matter?" she continued, trying to escape from her confusion.

Mademoiselle's instant response to her cry at the sight of Pastor Lahmann rang in her ears. She blushed to the soles of her feet.... How could Mademoiselle misunderstand her insane remark? What did she mean?

What did she really think of her? Just kind old Lahmann--walking along there in the outside world.... _She_ did not want to stop him.... He was a sort of kinsman for Mademoiselle... that was what she had meant. Oh, why couldn't she get away from all these girls?... indeed--and again she saw the hurrying figure which had disappeared leaving the boulevard with its usual effect of a great strange ocean--he could have brought help and comfort to all of them if he had seen them and stopped. Pastor Lahmann--Lahmann--perhaps she would not see him again. Perhaps he could tell her what she ought to do.

"Oh, my dear," Jimmie was saying, "didn't you know?--a fearful row."

Mademoiselle's laughter tinkled out from the rear.

"A row?"

"Fearful!" Jimmie's face came round, round-eyed under her white sailor hat that sat slightly tilted on the peak of her hair.

"What about?"

"Something about a letter or something, or some letters or something--I don't know. Something she took out of the letter-box, it was unlocked or something and Ulrica saw her _and told Lily!"_

"Goodness!" breathed Miriam.

"Yes, and Lily had her in her room and Ulrica and poor little Pet.i.te couldn't deny it. Ulrica said she did nothing but cry and cry. She's been crying all the morning, poor little pig."

"Why did she want to take anything out of the box?"

"Oh, I don't know. There was a fearful row anyhow. Ulrica said Lily talked like a clergyman--wie ein Pfarrer.... I don't know. Ulrica said she was _opening_ a letter. _I_ don't know."

"But she can't read German or English."

"_I_ don't know. Ask me another."

"It is _extraordinary."_

"What's extraordinary?" asked Bertha from the far side of Jimmie.

"Pet.i.te and that letter."

"Oh."

"What did the Kiddy _want?"_

"Oh, my dear, don't ask me to explain the peculiarities of the French temperament."

"Yes, but all the letters in the letter-box would be English or German, as Hendy says."

Bertha glanced at Miriam. Miriam flushed. She could not discuss Mademoiselle with two of the girls at once.

"Rum go," said Bertha.

"You're right, my son. It's rum. It's all over now, anyhow. There's no accounting for tastes. Poor old Pet.i.te."

5

Miriam woke in the moonlight. She saw Mademoiselle's face as it had looked at tea-time, pale and cruel, silent and very old. Someone had said she had been in Fraulein's room again all the afternoon....

Fraulein had spoken to her once or twice during tea. She had answered coolly and eagerly... disgusting... like a child that had been whipped and forgiven.... How could Fraulein dare to forgive anybody?

She lay motionless. The night was cool. The screens had not been moved.

She felt that the door was shut. After a while she began in imagination a conversation with Eve.

"You see the trouble _was,"_ she said and saw Eve's downcast believing admiring sympathetic face, "Fraulein talked to me about manner, she simply wanted me to grimace, _simply._ _You_ know--be like other people."

Eve laughed. "Yes, I know."

"You see? _Simply."_

"Well, if you wanted to stay, why couldn't you?"