“I’ll go with you,” said Tante Modeste. “We’ll see for ourselves, and then we shall be satisfied. Unless she gave Lady Jane away, she’s likely to be in some such place; and I think, as I always have, Paichoux, that she stole Lady Jane from some rich family, and that was why she ran off so sudden and hid. That lady’s coming the day after proves that some one was on madame’s track. Oh, I tell you there’s a history there, if we can only get at it. We’ll start out to-morrow and see what can be done. I sha’n’t rest until the child is found and restored to her own people.”
One morning, while Lady Jane was in the schoolroom busy with her lessons, Margaret entered with some visitors. It was a very common thing for people to come during study hours, and the child did not look up until she heard some one say: “These are the children of that age. See if you recognize ‘Lady Jane’ among them.”
It was her old name that startled her, and made her turn suddenly toward the man and woman, who were looking eagerly about the room. In an instant the bright-faced woman cried, “Yes! yes! Oh, there she is!” and simultaneously Lady Jane exclaimed, “Tante Modeste, oh, Tante Modeste!” and, quicker than I can tell it, she was clasped to the loving heart of her old friend, while Paichoux looked on, twirling his hat and smiling broadly.
“Jane, you can come with us,” said Margaret, as she led the way to the parlor.
There was a long and interesting conversation, to which the child listened with grave wonder, while she nestled close to Tante Modeste. She did not understand all they said; there was a great deal about Madame Jozain and Good Children Street, and a gold watch with diamond initials, and beautiful linen with initial letters, J. C., embroidered on it, and madame’s sudden flight, and the visit of the elegant lady in the fine carriage, the Texas story, and madame’s wretched hiding-place and miserable death in the Charity Hospital; to all of which Margaret listened with surprise and interest. Then she in turn told the Paichoux how Lady Jane had been found looking in the window on Christmas Eve, while she clung to the railings, half-clad and suffering with the cold, and how she had questioned her and endeavored to get some clue to her identity.
“Why didn’t you tell Mother Margaret about your friends in Good Children Street, my dear?” asked Tante Modeste, with one of her bright smiles.
Lady Jane hesitated a moment, and then replied timidly, “Because I was afraid.”
“What were you afraid of, my child?” asked Paichoux kindly.
“Tante Pauline told me that I mustn’t.” Then she stopped and looked wistfully at Margaret. “Must I tell now, Mother Margaret? Will it be right to tell? Tante Pauline told me not to.”
“Yes, my dear, you can tell everything now. It’s right. You must tell us all you remember.”