Madame Vance"s brow darkened, but she smoothed the girl"s hair softly.
"And aren"t you going to forgive your poor "Cherie"? Are you going to turn against her because of a little whipping? You are unjust, Jeanne.
We who have the blacks to deal with know more of this matter than you do. Besides did I not give it up when you asked me?"
"Forgive me," answered Jeanne trying to feel the same toward the beautiful woman as she had before, but too full of the recent horror to do so. "I am not used to such things, Cherie, and it will take some time for me to get over them."
"We will say no more about it, you quaint one, but go for our drive."
And soon they were out in the bright sunshine, the lady pointing out places of interest as she had often done before, but it seemed to the girl that she was trying to impress upon her mind the location of some of the streets particularly.
"Now," said Madame after they had returned to the villa and were partaking of refreshments, "now you shall show me again the lunch basket with its curious hiding-place. How clever your father must be, child! I long to know him."
"I wish we could go to him," sighed Jeanne as she obediently brought the basket and showed once more the place where the quinine had been concealed.
"Perhaps we may soon, who knows?" said the lady gaily, examining the basket closely notwithstanding her liveliness. "I would tell you a secret--but no; not now."
"What, Cherie?" cried the girl with eagerness. "Is it about my father?"
"Now, now, curious one!" madame shook her finger playfully at her. "Well then, I will tell. I can refuse you nothing, pet.i.te. You wind yourself about my heart so. Listen, and you shall hear the grand news. Your uncle and I wonder too why your father does not write. We know that you have a great desire for your home, and so we are going to take you there."
"Home! Oh, Cherie!" Jeanne sprang to the lady and embraced her rapturously, "Home! I am so glad! so glad!"
"Is it not grand, little one? And we go together to see your clever father and your beautiful mother. But your uncle has much to do first.
I will tell you more. He has deeded you all his property. His houses, his carriages, his slaves, his horses, his money, in fact everything which he possesses. Is he not kind?"
"To me?" and Jeanne looked at her in bewilderment. "But why, Cherie?"
"Because he thinks so much of you, and then too you are for the Union, and the "Beast" will not take them from you as he would from us."
"But why should General Butler wish to take your property from you?" asked the girl, who knew nothing of the Confiscation Act. In fact knowledge of any kind had been carefully kept from her except such as reflected upon the North.
"I do not know, child. Who does?" shrugging her shoulders. "The vagaries of the "Beast" are not to be kept up with. But it does not matter. You will have them and we will be pleased. We have no children, you know."
"I know," said Jeanne kissing her. She could not understand the matter.
Her uncle had never shown any particular fondness for her, and in fact seemed to shun her. "You are very kind to me, Cherie."
"So kind that you would do one little thing for "Cherie"?" asked the lady, flashing a quick glance at her.
"Certainly, I would," replied the girl unwarily.
"Then listen, pet.i.te, and you shall hear how you can do a great service for your uncle and me. Draw closer, my pet. None must hear what I would tell you."
Jeanne came close to her side and waited to hear what her aunt had to say.
CHAPTER XIV
A VICTIM OF DECEIT
"I do not know," began Madame in her soft voice, "whether I have told you that I have a brother. Have I?"
"No, Cherie."
"I have, pet.i.te, in the Confederate Army. He is very dear to me. A few days ago I learned that he was wounded and ill. He is not far from the city, and he lies in a rude hospital tent without clothing or the necessary food and medicine. Is it not hard, little one, to think of being in the midst of plenty while my only brother is dest.i.tute?"
"Yes," answered Jeanne with ready sympathy, "it is."
"I thought that you would think so," and the lady smoothed her hair gently. "Suppose that it were your own brother, d.i.c.k. I know that you would do almost anything to help him, and I feel the same about Auguste. I tried vainly to get a pa.s.s to go to him to take him some necessities, but ma foi! That beast of a Yankee General will not give me one. I am distressed. I suffer, but of what avail is it? I come to you, my little one, for aid."
"To me?" Jeanne looked her surprise. "What can I do, Cherie?"
"You are so brave. You have so much cleverness. Could I do it I would not ask it of you. But what would you! I am a coward. I faint at the least noise. I lose my wits; and so, child, I want you to take some medicine and food to my Auguste."
"I to take it? Why how could I do it?"
""Tis easy to one who has the courage, pet.i.te. I would send Feliciane with you. "Tis only to elude the sentinels some dark night and once beyond them the rest is nothing. Feliciane knows where a boat is hidden on Lake Ponchartrain, and she would row you to the other side where you would be met by one of my brother"s comrades who would receive the things.
Then you step once more into the boat, and Mais! there you are safe and sound in the city again."
"Why could not Feliciane go alone?" questioned Jeanne.
"My child, she has not the intelligence. One must demand nothing of these creatures that calls for the exercise of reason. Will you go, my pet?"
"Would it be wrong, Cherie?"
"Wrong to carry food to a wounded soldier? Why should you think so, child?"
"Then it is nothing against the government?"
"No; I would not ask it of you if it were. Will you please me, Jeanne?
Your uncle would like it too."
"Yes, Cherie, I will," said Jeanne after a moment"s thought. "If it is only to take some food to a poor soldier it cannot be wrong. When do you wish me to go?"
"Dearest, to-night. There is no moon and it will be easier to elude the guards. I may use your basket, may I not? It will not be so heavy to carry."
"If you wish," a.s.sented Jeanne. "But it will not hold much."
"I only want to send a few, a very few things. Just what he needs most to put heart into him, poor fellow! And then when you come back, we will plan our journey to your home. Oh, we will have the grand time!"
The day wore away. Madame Vance talked volubly about the girl"s home and asked her so many questions concerning it that Jeanne was wrought up to the highest pitch. At last the darkness fell. With it came a drizzling rain and to the tenderly nurtured girl it seemed that this would put a stop to the enterprise; but no.
"Could anything be more fortunate," cried Madame who was in the highest spirits. "Nothing could be better for our purpose. Ah, pet.i.te, you will outwit the Yankee soldiers yet."
Jeanne looked troubled. The matter had not presented itself in that light before.
"I am not doing wrong, am I, Cherie?" she asked dubiously. "It is nothing against the government, is it?"