Madame Fernandez agreed that Madelon was not over-refined, and that Pepsie lacked the accomplishments of a young lady. “But they are very honest,” she said, “and the girl has a generous heart, and is so patient and cheerful; besides, Madelon has a sister who is rich. Monsieur Paichoux, her sister’s husband, is very well off, a solid man, with a large dairy business; and their daughter Marie, who just graduated at the Sacred Heart, is very pretty, and is fiancée to a young man of superior family, a son of Judge Guiot, and you know who the Guiots are.”
Yes, madame knew. Her father, Pierre Bergeron, and Judge Guiot had always been friends, and the families had visited in other days. If that was the case, the Paichoux must be very respectable; and if “Bonne Praline” was the sister-in-law of a Paichoux, and prospective aunt-in-law to the son of a judge, there was no reason why she should keep the child away; therefore she allowed her to go whenever she wished, which was from the time she was out of bed in the morning until it was quite dark at night.
Lady Jane shared Pepsie’s meals, and sat at the table with her, learning to crack and shell pecans with such wonderful facility that Pepsie’s task was accomplished some hours sooner, therefore she had a good deal of time each day to devote to her little friend. And it was very amusing to witness Pepsie’s motherly care for the child. She bathed her, and brushed her long silken hair; she trimmed her bang to the most becoming length; she dressed her with the greatest taste, and tied her sash with the chic of a French milliner; she examined the little pink nails and pearls of teeth to see if they were perfectly clean, and she joined with Lady Jane in rebelling against madame’s decree that the child should go barefoot while the weather was warm. “All the little creoles did, and she was not going to buy shoes for the child to knock out every day.” Therefore, when her shoes were worn, Madelon bought her a neat little pair on the Rue Bourbon, and Pepsie darned her stockings and sewed on buttons and strings with the most exemplary patience. When madame complained that, with all the business she had to attend to, the white frocks were too much trouble and expense to keep clean, Tite Souris, who was a fair laundress, begged that she might be allowed to wash them, which she did with such good-will that Lady Jane was always neat and dainty.
Gradually the sorrowful, neglected look disappeared from her small face, and she became rosy and dimpled again, and as contented and happy a child as ever was seen in Good Children Street. Every one in the neighborhood knew her; the gracious, beautiful little creature, with her blue heron, became one of the sights of the quarter. She was a picture and a poem in one to the homely, good-natured creoles, and everywhere she went she carried sunshine with her.
Little Gex, a tiny, shrunken, bent Frenchman, who kept a small fruit and vegetable stall just above Madelon’s, felt that the day had been dark indeed when Lady Jane’s radiant little face did not illumine his dingy quarters. How his old, dull eyes would brighten when he heard her cheery voice, “Good morning, Mr. Gex; Tante Pauline”—or Pepsie, as the case might be—“would like a nickel of apples, onions, or carrots”; and the orange that was always given her for lagniappe was received with a charming smile, and a “Thank you,” that went straight to the old, withered heart.
Gex was a quiet, polite little man, who seldom held any conversation with his customers beyond the simple requirements of his business; and children, as a general thing, he detested, for the reason that the ill-bred little imps in the neighborhood made him the butt of their mischievous ridicule, for his appearance was droll in the extreme: his small face was destitute of beard and as wrinkled as a withered apple, and he usually wore a red handkerchief tied over his bald head with the ends hanging under his chin; his dress consisted of rather short and very wide trousers, a little jacket, and an apron that reached nearly to his feet. This very quaint costume gave him a nondescript appearance, which excited the mirth of the juvenile population to such a degree that they did not always restrain it within proper bounds. Therefore it was very seldom that a child entered his den, and such a thing as one receiving lagniappe was quite unheard of.
MR. GEX AT THE DOOR OF HIS SHOP
All day long he sat on his small wooden chair behind the shelf across his window, on which was laid in neat piles oranges, apples, sweet potatoes, onions, cabbages, and even the odorous garlic; they were always sound and clean, and for that reason, even if he did not give lagniappe to small customers, he had a fair trade in the neighborhood. And he was very neat and industrious. When he was not engaged in preparing his vegetables, he was always tinkering at something of interest to himself; he could mend china and glass, clocks and jewelry, shoes and shirts; he washed and patched his own wardrobe, and darned his own stockings. Often when a customer came in he would push his spectacles upon his forehead, lay down his stocking and needle, and deal out his cabbage and carrots as unconcernedly as if he had been engaged in a more manly occupation.
From some of the dingy corners of his den he had unearthed an old chair, very stiff and high, and entirely destitute of a bottom; this he cleaned and repaired by nailing across the frame an orange-box cover decorated with a very bright picture, and one day he charmed Lady Jane by asking her to sit down and eat her orange while he mended his jacket.