'
'It can't be the school, it is holiday time,' said Gilbert. 'I'll go
and see what is the matter.'
'No, I will go,' said Albinia, 'I will ask the old ladies to luncheon
here, and that will make her happy, and make it easier for Sophy to
get on with Sarah Anne Drury.'
Lucy had seen Genevieve alone; Albinia took her by storm before
Madame Belmarche, whose little black eyes sparkled as she assured
Mrs. Kendal that the child merited that and every other pleasure; and
when Genevieve attempted to whisper objections, silenced her with an
embrace, saying, 'Ah! my love, where is your gratitude to Madame?
Have no fears for us. Your pleasure will be ours for months to
come.'
The liquid sweetness of Genevieve's eyes spoke of no want of
gratitude, and with glee which she no longer strove to repress, she
tripped away to equip herself, and Albinia heard her clear young
voice upstairs, singing away the burthen of some queer old French
ditty.
Albinia found Gilbert and Sophy in disgrace with Lucy for having
gathered the choicest flowers, which they were eagerly making up into
bouquets. Genevieve's was ready before she arrived in the prettiest
tremor of gratitude and anticipation, and presented to her by
Gilbert, whilst Sophy looked on, and blushed crimson, face, neck, and
all, as Genevieve smelt and admired the white roses that had so
cruelly been reft from Lucy's beloved tree.
With every advantage of pretty features, good complexion, and nice
figure, the English Lucy, in her blue-and-white checked silk, worked
muslin mantle, and white chip bonnet with blue ribbons, was eclipsed
by the small swarthy French girl, in that very old black silk dress,
and white trimmed coarse straw bonnet, just enlivened by little pink
bows at the neck and wrists.
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