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He spoke most frequently of terrible quarters, which he called Five Points; the greatest poverty and suffering was there. And he spoke of it with such eloquent sympathy, that even Uncle Bertrand began to listen with interest. "Come," he said, "you are a rich, idle fellow; De Rochemont, and we want rich, idle fellows to come and look into all this and do something for us.
And the church on Christmas morning had been so beautiful with flowers from the hot-houses of the château. It was for the church, indeed, that the conservatories were chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Rochemont would scarcely have permitted herself such luxuries.
Her maid had asked permission to go out for the evening and Monsieur de Rochemont was to dine out, so that she found it possible to leave the house without attracting attention. As soon as the streets were lighted she took the case of ornaments, and going downstairs very quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining, and she was seen by none of them.
"The little children they sit up on the step quite near the food was for them! I pray you give it to them." "Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor. "Take the basket, De Rochemont only a few doors below." And it appeared that there was something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. For a moment Dr.
Evidently the journey out of town had been delayed for a day at least. There came also another message: Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to send to him by her maid a certain box of antique ornaments which had been given to her by her Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the value of these jewels than of their beauty.
She knew they were beautiful, and that they had belonged to her Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of her triumphs as a beauty and a brilliant and adored young woman, but it seemed that they were also very curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished his friend to see them. When Elizabeth went downstairs she found them examining them together.
"Only," he wrote to Mademoiselle de Rochemont, "don't end by training her for an abbess, my dear Clotilde." There was a very great difference between these two people the distance between the gray stone château in Normandy and the brown stone mansion in New York was not nearly so great as the distance and difference between the two lives.
And yet it was said that in her first youth Mademoiselle de Rochemont had been as gay and fond of pleasure as either of her brothers. And then, when her life was at its brightest and gayest when she was a beautiful and brilliant young woman she had had a great and bitter sorrow, which had changed her for ever.
A strange thought flashed into her mind. Saint Elizabeth, of Thuringia the cruel Landgrave. Perhaps the Saints would help her, too, since she was trying to do their bidding. Surely, surely it must be so! "Speak!" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont. "Why is this? The basket what have you in it?" "Roses," said Elizabeth, "Roses."
"Since one is really of flesh and blood, and lives among flesh and blood, that is not best. No, no; it is not best." But Mademoiselle de Rochemont never seemed exactly of flesh and blood she was more like a marble female saint who had descended from her pedestal to walk upon the earth. And she did not change, even when the baby Elizabeth was brought to her.
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