Page:Cerise, a tale of the last century (IA cerisetaleoflast00whytrich).pdf/28

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page needs to be proofread.

when she approached her darling, and the child bounding up to meet her, ran into her arms with a cry of delight that showed their attachment was mutual. George, extremely proud of his commission, volunteered to guide them to the spot whence, as directed, they could witness the progress of the king's dinner, and the strangely-matched trio proceeded through the now decreasing crowd, to all appearance perfectly satisfied with each other.

They had already taken up their position opposite the window which his Majesty had indicated, and were in full enjoyment of the thrilling spectacle he had promised them, namely, a little old man in a wig, served by half-a-dozen servants at once, and eating to repletion, when Cerise, who clung to Célandine's hand, hid her face in the bonne's gown, to avoid the gaze of two gentlemen who were staring at her with every mark of approval. "What is it, my cherished one?" said the quadroon, in tender accents.

"Who dares frighten my darling?" But the fierce voice changed into coaxing tones when the bonne recognised a familiar face in one of her charge's unwelcome admirers.

"Why, it's Monsieur l'Abbé! Surely you know Monsieur l'Abbé! Come, be a good child, then; make Monsieur l'Abbé a reverence, and wish him good-day!"

But Cerise persistently declined any friendly overtures whatever to Monsieur l'Abbé; hanging her head and turning her toes in most restively; so the three passed on to witness the process of eating as performed by Louis le Grand; and Monsieur l'Abbé, crumpling his extremely plain features into a sneer, observed his companion, "It is droll enough, Florian, children never take to me, though I make my way as well as another with grown-up people. They seem to mistrust me from the first. Can it be because I am so very ugly?"

The other smiled deprecatingly. "Good looks," said he, "have nothing to do with it. Children are like their elders—they hate intellect because they fear it. Oh, Malletort! had I the beauty of Absalom, I would give it all willingly to possess your opportunities and your powers of using them!"

"Thank you," replied Malletort, looking gratified in spite of himself at the compliment, but perhaps envying