the sunbeams of a tedious sabbath began noticeably to slant.
for two days, night, morning, noon, and afternoon, geoffry chester had silently speculated on what he was to see, hear, and otherwise experience when, as early as he might in keeping with the chapdelaine dignity and his, he should pull the tiny brass bell-knob on their tall gate-post.
chapdelaine! impressive, patrician title. impressive too those baptismal names; implying a refinement invincible in the vale of adversity. killing time up one street and down another--rampart, ursuline, burgundy--he pictured personalities to fit them: for corinne a presence stately in advanced years and preserved beauty; for yvonne a fragile form suggestive of mother-o'-pearl, of antique lace. knowledge of aline justified such inferences--within bounds. with other charms she had all these, and must have got them from ancestral sources as truly mlle. corinne's and mlle. yvonne's as hers.
"oh, of course," he pondered, "there are contrary possibilities. they may easily fall short, far short, of her, in outer graces, and show their kinship only in a reflection of her inner fineness. they may be no more surprising than those dear old de l'isles, or the prieurs, or than mrs. thorndyke-smith. so let it be! aline----"
"aline-aline!" alarmingly echoed his heart.
"aline is enough." enough? alas, too much! he felt himself far too forthpushing in--he would not confess more--a solicitude for her which he could not stifle; an inextinguishable wish to disentangle her from the officious care of those by whom she was surrounded--encumbered. "i've no right to this state of mind," he thought; "none." he reached the gate. he rang.
a footfall of daintiest lightness came running! ["aline-aline!"] so might allegro have tripped it. the key rasped round, ["aline-aline!"] the portal drew in, and he found himself getting his first front view of cupid, the small black satellite.
a pleasing object. smaller than ever. white-collared as ever, starched and brushed to the sheen of a new penny and ugly of face as a gargoyle--ugly as his goddess was beautiful. not merely negroidal, in lips, nose, ears, and tight black wool divided on the absolute equator; not racially but uniquely ugly--till he smiled--and spoke. he smiled and spoke with a joy of soul, a transparency of innocence, a rapture of love, that made his ugliness positively endearing even apart from the entranced recognition they radiated.
"ladies at home? yassuh," he said, with an ecstasy as if he announced the world's war suddenly over, all oceans safe, all peoples free. he led the way up the cramped white-shell walk with a ceremonial precision that gave the caller time to notice the garden. it was hardly an empire. it lay on either side in two right-angled figures, each, say, of sixty by fourteen feet, every foot repeating florally the smile of the child. the rigid beds were curbed with brick water-painted as red as cupid's gums. the three fences were green with vines, and here and there against them bloomed tall evergreen shrubs. at one upper corner of the main path was a camellia and at the other a crape-myrtle, symbols respectively, to the visitor, of aunt corinne and aunt yvonne. the brick doorstep smiled as red as the garden borders, and as he reached the open door aline, with her two aunts at her back, received him.
"mr. chester--mlle. chapdelaine. mr. chester--my aunt yvonne." never had the niece seemed quite so fair--in face, dress, figure, or mental poise. she wore that rose whose petals are deep red in their outer circle and pass from middle pink to central white and deepen in tints with each day's age. if that rose could have been a girl, mind, soul, and all, a creole girl, there would have been two on one stem.
and there, on either side of her sat the aunts: the elder much too lean, the younger much too dishevelled, and both as sun-tanned as harvesters, betraying their poverty in flimsy, faded gowns which the dismayed youth named to himself not draperies but hangings. yet they were sweet-mannered, fluent, gay, cordial, and unreserved, though fluttering, twittering, and ultra-feminine.
the room was like the pair. "doubtlezz aline she's told you ab-out that 'ouse. no? ah, chère! is that possible? 'tis an ancient relique, that 'ouse. at the present they don't build any mo' like that 'ouse is build'! you see those wall', those floor'? every wall they are not of lath an' plazter, like to-day; they are of solid plank' of a thicknezz of two-inch'--and from kentucky!"
the guest recognized the second-hand lumber of broken-up flatboats.
"tha'z a genuine antique, that 'ouse! sometime' we think we ought to egspose that 'ouse, to those tourist', admission ten cent'." [a gay laugh.]
"but tha'z only when aline want' to compel us to buy some new dresses. and tha'z pritty appropriate, that antique 'ouse, for two sizter' themselve' pritty antique--ha, ha, ha!--as well as their anceztors."
"i fancy they're from 'way back," said chester.
"we are granddaughter' of two émigrés of the revolution. the other two they were decapitalize' on that gui'otine. yet, still, ad the same time, we don't feel antique. we don't feel mo' than ten year'! and especially when we are showing those souvenir' of our in-fancy. and there is nothing we love like that."
"aline, chère, doubtlezz mr. chezter will be very please' to see yo' li'l' dress of baptism! long time befo', that was also for me, and my sizter. that has the lace and embro'derie of a hundred years aggo, that li'l' dress of baptism. show him that! oh, that is no trouble, that is a dil-ight! and if you are please' to enjoy that we'll show you our two doll', age' forty-three!--bride an' bri'groom. go, you, yvonne, fedge them."
the sister rose but lingered: "mr. chezter, you will egscuse if that bride an' groom don't look pritty fresh; biccause eighteen seventy-three they have not change' their clothingg!"
"chérie," said aline, "i think first we better read the manuscript, and then."
after a breath of hesitation--"yes! read firs' and then. alway' businezz biffo'!"
all went into the garden; not the part chester had come through, but another only a trifle less pinched, at the back of the house. a few steps of straight path led them through its stiff ranks of larkspurs, carnations, and the like, to a bower of honeysuckle enclosing two rough wooden benches that faced each other across a six-by-nine goldfish pool. there they had hardly taken seats when cupid reappeared bearing to the visitor, on a silver tray, the manuscript.
it was not opened and dived into with the fine flurry of the modern stage. its recipient took time to praise the bower and pool, and the sisters laughed gratefully, clutched hands, and merrily called their niece "tantine." "you know, mr. chezter, 'tantine' tha'z 'auntie,' an' tha'z j'uz' a li'l' name of affegtion for her, biccause she takes so much mo' care of us than we of her; you see? but that bower an' that li'l' lake, my sizter an' me we construc' them both, that bower an' that li'l' lake."
without blazoning it they would have him know they had not squandered "tantine's" hard earnings on architects and contractors.
"and we assure you that was not ladies' work. 'twas not till weeks we achieve' that. that geniuz aline! she was the arshetec'. and those goldfishes--like aline--are self-su'porting! we dispose them at the apothecary, dauphine and toulouse street--ha, ha, ha! corinne, tha'z the egstent of commerce we ever been ab'e to make, eh?"
"and now," said aline, "the story."
"ah, yes," responded mlle. corinne, "at laz' the manuscrip'!" and mlle. yvonne echoed, with a queer guilt in her gayety:
"the manuscrip'! the myzteriouz manuscrip'!"
but there the gate bell sounded and she sprang to her feet. cupid could answer it, but some one must be indoors to greet the caller.
"yes, you, yvonne," the elder sister said, and aline added: "we'll not read till you return."
"ah, yes, yes! read without me!"
"no-no-no-no-no! we'll wait!"
"we'll wait, yvonne." the sister went.
chester smoothed out the pages, but then smilingly turned them face downward, and aline said:
"first, hector will tell us who's there."
hector was cupid. he came again, murmuring a name to mlle. corinne. she rose with hands clasped. "c'est m. et mme. rene ducatel!"
"well? hector will give your excuses; you are imperatively engaged."
"ah, chère, on sunday evening! tha'z an incredibility! must you not let me go? you 'ave 'ector."
"ah-h! and we are here to read this momentous document to hector?" the sparkle of amused command was enchanting to at least one besides cupid.
yet it did not win. "chère, you make me tremble. those ducatel', they've come so far! how can we show them so li'l' civilization when they've come so far? an' me i'm convince', and yvonne she's convince', that you an' mr. chezter you'll be ab'e to judge that manuscrip' better al-lone. oh, yes! we are convince' of that, biccause, you know--i'm sorrie--we are prejudice' in its favor!"
aline's lifted brows appealed to chester. "maybe hearing it," he half-heartedly said, "may correct your aunts' judgment."
the aunt shook her head in a babe's despair. "no, we've tri' that." her smile was tearful. "ah, chérie, you both muz' pardon. laz' night we was both so af-raid about that, an' of a so affegtionate curio-zitie, that we was compel' to read that manuscrip' through! an' we are convince'--though tha'z not ab-out clocks, neither angels, neither lovers--yet same time tha'z a moz' marvellouz manuscrip'. biccause, you know, tha'z a true story, that 'holy crozz.' tha'z concerning an insurregtion of slave'--there in santa cruz. and 'a slave insurregtion,' tha'z what they ought to call it, yes!--to prom-ote the sale. already laz' night yvonne she say she's convince' that in those northron citie', where they are since lately so fon' of that subjec', there be people by dozen'--will devour that story!"
she tripped off to the house.
"hector," said aline, "you may sit down."
cupid slid into the vacated seat. chester dropped the document into his pocket.
"for what?" the girl archly inquired.
"i want to take it to my quarters and judge it there. why shouldn't i?"
"yes, you may do that."
"and now tell me of your father, or his father--the one beloiseau knew--théophile chapdelaine."
"both were théophile. he knew them both."
"then tell me of both."
"mr. chester, 'twould be to talk of myself!"
"i won't take it so. tell the story purely as theirs. it must be fine. they were set, in conscience, against the conscience of their day----"
"so is mr. chester."
"never mind that, either. we're in a joint commercial enterprise; we want a few good stories that will hang on one stem. our business is business; a primrose by the river's brim--nothing more! although"--the speaker reddened----
the girl blushed. "mr. chester, take away the 'although' and i'll tell the story."
"i take it away. although----"
