<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">THUNDER STORM.</span></h2>
<p>Margot had been brought up by severe and much-detested Aunt Priscilla,
and by that dearly loved and holy man, Uncle Jacko, to dread a lie
beyond anything in the world. Aunt Priscilla scolded her and told her
of the awful fate of little girls who told lies. Uncle Jacko pursued a
far gentler and more effective way.</p>
<p>Uncle Jacko's way prevailed. He talked of the holy children who lived
in the New Jerusalem. He talked of the smiling Christ, and God, the
Father, and of the Holy Spirit, who entered into the heart of the
child who tried to be good. He talked very beautifully and little
Margot thought <i>him</i> very beautiful when he did talk on this subject,
and never up to the present moment had she broken her solemn word to
Uncle Jacko that she would at all costs and under every circumstance
keep to the truth. Nevertheless, here was she now, having broken that
solemn word, having made <i>cher</i> grandpère St. Juste imagine that the
<i>établissement</i> was kept by Madame <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</SPAN></span>Marcelle and that <i>la belle</i>
grand'mère had nothing whatever to do with it.</p>
<p>Oh, it was all terrible, notwithstanding grand'mère's passionate kisses
to the little girl, and notwithstanding the fact that Alphonse and his
Ninon were once more priceless treasures each to the other. Margot went
about with a heavy burden on her small heart. She had told grandpère
St. Juste a lie—yes, yes, there was no doubt on the subject. Her
spirits, so happy and high; her animation so fragrant, so delightful to
watch and listen to, seemed more or less to desert her. She used to sob
bitter tears at night in her little cot and long beyond words for the
moment when she might confess all to Uncle Jacko.</p>
<p>The old grandpère noticed the difference in <i>la petite</i> and much
wondered at it. Ninon, his wife, also noticed it and did her best,
her very best, to keep the knowledge from the eyes of the adorable
Alphonse. Still the fact remained—<i>la petite</i> was not what she was.
She learnt a certain number of lessons from grandpère and enjoyed her
music lessons, which <i>la belle</i> grand'mère supplied her with. And she
worked wonderful changes in the <i>établissement</i> with her beautiful
taste and delightful <i>chic</i> appearance. But still there was the lie,
always the lie, resting on her white little soul. </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>On a certain occasion, <i>la belle</i> grand'mère found <i>la petite</i> Comtesse
in floods of tears.</p>
<p>"What is it, <i>ma chérie petite</i>?" she exclaimed. "Oh, <i>très drôle</i>, Oh
<i>ma petite, c'est drôle</i>, to see the tears flow for no reason!"</p>
<p>"But there is reason, grand'mère," said little Margot. "I have told a
black, black lie."</p>
<p>"Thou! <i>Ce n'est pas possible!</i>"</p>
<p>"But I have, <i>ma</i> grand'mère. I did it for thee, because thy trouble
was so great. <i>Mon</i> grandpère, he thinks that the <i>établissement</i>
belongs to Madame Marcelle. I got him to think so and he was contented.
Oh, my heart, it is broken, it is broken! Grand'mère, my heart is
broken in little bits. Canst thou not see?"</p>
<p>Grand'mère burst into a low sweet laugh, not an angry laugh by any
means, but one that puzzled <i>la petite</i> Margot not a little.</p>
<p>"Thou hast a genuine worship of the beautiful," she cried. "Thou dost
help Madame Marcelle in her <i>établissement</i>. For me, my fears are at
an end. Why dost thou weep, <i>ma petite</i>? Oh, <i>les belles robes et
chapeaux</i> that thou dost make the old women buy. No one else could do
it but thee! The beautiful costumes thou dost give them, at the highest
rates. Wherever does the lie come in, <i>ma petite</i>?" </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Oh, <i>belle</i> grand'mère," said little Margot, "thou dost know the shop
is thine."</p>
<p>"<i>Mais non, mais non</i>," cried Ninon, clasping her tiny hands. "The
great <i>établissement</i> at Arles <i>belongs</i> to Madame Marcelle."</p>
<p>"Then why didst thou cry and get so frightened that day, <i>ma belle</i>
grand'mère?" cried little Margot.</p>
<p>"It was an attack of the nerves, <i>ma petite</i>. Now run out and play,
thou dost want the air. Thou thyself with thy tact did save <i>mon</i>
Alphonse and I am a happy woman again and the <i>dot</i> of my little
one—it grows and grows and grows! Ah, but she makes her own <i>dot</i>,
<i>n'est-ce pas</i>? Now run out and play; thou didst tell no black lie."</p>
<p>Margot wondered very much indeed if her grand'mère was right. She was
a little comforted but not altogether. She had a shrewd sense of the
justice of things and went to her almanac to tick off the number of
days which yet remained before Uncle Jacko came to fetch her.</p>
<p>Now this little French mademoiselle gave herself in her own sweet
independent way a great deal of liberty. She ran whooping and smiling
down the avenue. <i>La belle</i> grand'mère saw her and smiled to herself.</p>
<p>"It is dreadful to have <i>la petite</i> with a conscience that pricks,"
thought grand'mère, "but I think I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</SPAN></span> have soothed her, and to-morrow
morning I will communicate with Madame Marcelle and tell her that a
lie which rests so lightly on the soul of the French madame must be
communicated to little Margot. She must tell little Margot that the
<i>établissement</i> is altogether her own, then <i>la petite</i> will smile
again and feel that she has told no lie. Yes, it can be done—it must
be done! <i>Mon</i> Alphonse notices the cloud on the brow of <i>la petite</i>.
It must vanish. She must converse, she must amuse. She must be as of
old, a French <i>petite</i> with the wit of Ireland in her veins. Ah, she is
truly diverting with her little pricked conscience, but I can set that
matter right for her."</p>
<p>Meanwhile Margot walked along the road thinking very hard indeed and
wondering if <i>la belle</i> grand'mère had told her the truth. It was now
getting to the end of August and in little more than a fortnight she
would be returning to that ancient man of might, The Desmond. Oh, how
happy she would be; how she would nestle in his arms and tell him of
all her sorrows! And on the way to Desmondstown she would confide in
Uncle Jacko. Yes, he would tell her what was right to be done—Uncle
Jacko, who only feared God, but no man that ever lived—Uncle Jacko
with the clear face and soft gentle eyes, who was so unlike Aunt
Priscilla, that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</SPAN></span> woman who was altogether terrible. Ah, but even Uncle
Jacko was not quite so dear to her as was her grandfather, The Desmond.
He and Madam were perfect and so was Uncle Fergus perfect, and as to
the old-youngs—well, she could not help them. They were much nicer
than most of the French people she saw around her. So she skipped and
ran and sang a gay little French song all to herself, but she did not
notice that all the time as she was going further and further away from
the château, a heavy cloud was coming up and obscuring the sky, a cloud
black and cruel as night when it is hopeless—quite hopeless with gloom.</p>
<p>Pretty little Margot suddenly stopped singing because a great heavy
blob of rain fell on the tip of her little nose. This was immediately
followed by a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder so loud, so
vivid, that it seemed to shake the very ground under her feet. There
was a hedge at the side of the straight French road and Margot took
refuge there, crouching in so as not to get too wet. She had just
managed to effect her object when she heard an unmistakably English
voice saying to her,</p>
<p>"It's you, Margot St. Juste; I'm your late schoolfellow, Matilda
Raynes. I came out without leave. I put on my best hat, the one you
chose for me. I wanted to go into Arles and to sun myself in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</SPAN></span> sight
of the French windows of your great shop, Margot. But, behold, look,
the rain, it trickles down, it pours in sheets; my chapeau which you
chose for me will be destroyed. We were all so glad, Margot, when that
horrid Dorothy got stung by the bees of M. le Comte. Oh, but she was
a figure of fun, and she howled and screamed when the doctor came and
removed the stings. Why did you leave us, little Margot? Could a girl
such as Dorothy interfere with you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, she could, she did!" said little Margot. "I'm not going back to
the school of la Princesse de Fleury any more."</p>
<p>"Oh, my hat, my hat," sobbed Matilda. "Oh, how it pours—and see the
lightning, it flashes through the raindrops. Oh, let us get further
under this hedge. My beautiful chapeau will be destroyed and it will be
known that I left the grounds without leave."</p>
<p>"Come," said Margot, getting up in her quick and resolute way. "Never
mind your chapeau, it is not safe to be under a hedge with thunder and
lightning like this. Behold, the lightning may kill you—come, come!"</p>
<p>"Oh, but I cannot have my beautiful chapeau ruined," said Matilda.</p>
<p>"Never mind, I'll speak to grand'mère and <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</SPAN></span><i>perhaps</i> we may contrive
another," said Margot. "Come along at once or I must go alone. I don't
mean to be killed for the sake of any chapeau."</p>
<p>"Don't leave me, don't leave me; that lightning frightens me!" said
Matilda.</p>
<p>"I must leave you," said Margot, "unless you come with me. You don't
want both your chapeau and yourself to die. Come, quick!"</p>
<p>Margot pulled her with a strong arm. Matilda found herself forced
to come out into the centre of the road. They had half a mile to
walk through the drenching rain. The poor little chapeau became
like a sponge; both girls were wet to the skin, for the torrents of
rain continued and the lightning still played, played brilliantly,
unceasingly, and the thunder roared with mighty force. At last they
got to the gates of the Château St. Juste, and Margot led her dripping
companion into the well-kept hall. Both grandpère and grand'mère were
waiting in the hall for their little Margot.</p>
<p>She went swiftly up to them.</p>
<p>"<i>Mon</i> grandpère must not touch me," she said, "for I am a pool of
water. I met Matilda Raynes—she belongs to the school of la Princesse.
May we go upstairs, grand'mère, and take off our dripping things, and
when the storm gets less may a message be sent to la Princesse, and may
I lend Matilda some<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</SPAN></span> of my clothes, grand'mère, until hers are dry? Ah,
<i>tiens, le chapeau</i>, it is pulp!" She kicked the offending hat with her
foot.</p>
<p>A few minutes later, both little girls were lying warm and snug in
Margot's bed. Margot told Matilda that she was nothing but a <i>bébé</i>,
but that if she stopped crying she would try to get her another chapeau.</p>
<p>"It shall be for nothing this time," said Margot.</p>
<p>"Ah, thou little shop-keeper!" exclaimed Matilda, "thou little adorable
one!"</p>
<p>"Call me not shop-keeper, please. I am Comtesse St. Juste. Now lie
still and I will get up and dress. Louise, see, has a message been sent
to la Princesse de Fleury?"</p>
<p>"Ah, <i>mais oui</i>, Comtesse!" replied Louise.</p>
<p>"Then I will dress. I will wear my coral frock, and thou must get a
white frock of mine and undergarments for mademoiselle. <i>Vite, vite</i>,
Louise! Mademoiselle wants to get up."</p>
<p>"I don't. I want to stay here forever," said Matilda, yawning not a
little.</p>
<p>"Thou lazy one," said Margot, "thou must be returned to the school."</p>
<p>Louise went out of the room to return with the information that the
bath was hot and ready for both <i>les petites</i>. Then the two children
were dressed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</SPAN></span> in Margot's clothes and Matilda flung her arms round
Margot's neck and said,</p>
<p>"Oh, but behold me of the most miserable! I am English and I do not
like a French school, and I have a stepmother and I love her not, and
my father is harsh and cruel. Will you not pity me, Margot? When the
time comes for you to leave this so-called beautiful country of France,
may I not come, too? I am learning to be a very bad girl at the school
and I was always a bad girl at home, because of my stepmother and my
harsh cruel father. Could you not get me to that castle of yours in
beautiful Ireland? If I lived for even three or four weeks with you I
might turn good, I might indeed."</p>
<p>"I can't say," replied Margot, "I must think. There, thou art dressed
and my clothes suit thee better than thine own. Hold thy head erect.
See, I will dry thy hair and I will go now, this very minute, and speak
to Madame, <i>ma belle</i> grand'mère, about a chapeau for thee."</p>
<p>"Ah, yes, yes," said Matilda. "You are noble, Comtesse. I love you, I
could crawl at your feet."</p>
<p>"But I should not wish it," said Margot. "I hate people that crawl. I
want you to become good, and perhaps, God knows, it may be the right
thing to do. Stay where you are, Matilda, and I will go and speak to
grand'mère." </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>She came back in a few minutes with a light dancing step.</p>
<p>"Grand'mère <i>est un ange</i>. She will settle with Madame Marcelle and I
will choose you a chapeau for nothing at all. I know the kind that will
suit you. I can dispose of you in a moment."</p>
<p>"But, but——" exclaimed Matilda. "Am I not to see you again, sweetest
Margot?"</p>
<p>"You have got to go back to school this minute. The rain is over and
grandpère's automobile is waiting for you. Madame la Comtesse has
written to Madame la Princesse and you will not be scolded and you will
send back my clothes after they are well washed and ironed. I cannot
tell you anything about Ireland for a long day yet. Go now, Matilda,
and don't grovel, I beg."</p>
<p>Matilda looked rather startled and slightly frightened.</p>
<p>Margot danced down to her grandpère.</p>
<p>"I have missed thee so, <i>ma petite</i>," he exclaimed.</p>
<p>"The girl would have died, grandpère, if I had not rescued her. A flash
of lightning would have taken her up to heaven as Elijah was taken up."</p>
<p>"I know not that story," said grandpère.</p>
<p>"Ah, well, grandpère, thou art a little ignorant in some things, but
never mind, I want to ask thee a question." </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Ask away, my cabbage, my fledgling," said the old man.</p>
<p>"I want to suppose a bit," said Margot.</p>
<p>"Suppose away, then, <i>ma petite</i>."</p>
<p>"There was a little girl and she did wrong," said Margot. "It's all
suppose, don't forget that, grandpère."</p>
<p>"I'm not forgetting," said grandpère.</p>
<p>"She did wrong, a deep, terrible wrong," continued Margot, "and there
came to her a sorrow which was great, which was severe. Her conscience
pricked her. For behold, understand, she was a Protestant and could
not confide in one of thy Catholic Church. Then it occurred to her
that she might make reparation for her wrong and do something that she
most badly hated, and so set her pricked conscience at rest. Dost thou
think, if she did that thing, that the great God would forgive her,
grandpère?"</p>
<p>"I am certain of it, <i>ma petite</i>. I am as sure as that I am a very
old man and that thou art my best <i>chérie</i>. But now, let's talk of
something cheerful. What does it matter to thee, <i>petite</i>, how wrong
others are if thou thyself art free?"</p>
<p>"Nothing at all, grandpère, dear grandpère."</p>
<p>"Then make me laugh, my little pigeon. Turn to the merry things of
life. We of the French nation<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</SPAN></span> are always cheerful. That is why we live
so long. The gloom, it kills us, but the sunshine, behold, it gives
us life. Be my sunshine now, <i>ma petite</i>. See, behold, make thy old
grandpère laugh. It is all right and good and as it should be. Ah, my
little one, but I love thee well!"</p>
<p>"And I love thee, grandpère, but not as well as The Desmond. Thou dost
not mind?"</p>
<p>"I could kill The Desmond," said grandpère.</p>
<p>Margot burst into a peal of laughter.</p>
<p>"Indeed, but thou couldst not," she remarked. "Thou hast not got his
height nor his strength and thou art older. I see the age in thy sunken
eyes. Now I will tell thee a story <i>très drôle</i>."</p>
<p>Little Margot told her story and Madame la Comtesse listened to the
childish laughter and the clear, happy, childish voice, and said to
herself that there never was anybody before quite so sweet as little
Margot. She must get that little conscience to prick no more.</p>
<p>"There is no time like the present," thought la Comtesse. "The shower
has passed away and the air is fresh and here is the motor car
returning, having conveyed that common English girl back to her school.
I will go this very moment and speak to Madame Marcelle."</p>
<p>This Madame la Comtesse did, and to such <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</SPAN></span>purpose and with such
excellent effect that she did not once upset the nerves of Madame
Marcelle and came home to enjoy the society of her husband and
granddaughter in the best of spirits.</p>
<p>The next morning Margot went as usual to the <i>établissement</i>, but
before she began her accustomed work, Madame Marcelle called her into
her private room and there she told her that she was working for
herself, not for Madame la Comtesse, and that she found <i>la petite</i>
Comtesse so useful that she was going to pay her two hundred francs
a month for every month that she was with her, and that it had been
further arranged that the little Comtesse before she left France for
Ireland was to receive five hundred francs besides, having her <i>dot</i>
put carefully away for her in addition.</p>
<p>"Ah, but thou wilt be <i>riche, ma petite</i>!" said Madame Marcelle, "and
now go and attend to thy duties, for my <i>magasin</i> is like no other in
the whole of Arles."</p>
<p>Little Margot looked with her firm, clear, very dark eyes full into
the face of Madame Marcelle. It seemed to her that she did not believe
her in the least. Nevertheless, the woman had told her what was beyond
doubt the apparent truth. The little Comtesse attended to her usual
duties, and in the end wrote a letter to Matilda Raynes, telling her
that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span> she would write to her grandfather and, if all went well, would
invite her to spend two or three weeks with her at Desmondstown.</p>
<p>Margot took a long time in writing her letter, but it was written
at last. She would like to bring a girl, an English girl, back to
Desmondstown; would The Desmond mind? The girl should never interfere
with him, the darling, nor with that dear, dear Madam, but she could
play with Norah and Bridget, and perhaps a little bit with Eileen. She
was unhappy at home, and not very happy at school and would The Desmond
greatly mind?</p>
<p>The Desmond did not mind at all. He said to Madam:</p>
<p>"Put the English miss as far away from me as possible. Hand her over to
the care of our young daughters. For me, I await my grandchild. I think
and dream of no one else."</p>
<p>"It shall be as you wish, Fergus," said Madam. "It is now the 1st of
September. We shall have the little angel with us in less than a week."</p>
<p>"Ah, the good God be praised!" said The Desmond. "I look not ahead, I
enjoy the present to the very, very utmost."</p>
<p>"Your little grandchild loves you," said Madam. "We will get her
room neat and beautiful for her,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span> and we will creep in, in the early
morning, and see her asleep."</p>
<p>"Hand in hand," said The Desmond, looking at his old wife.</p>
<p>"Yes, Fergus, hand in hand," said Madam.</p>
<p>They looked at each other with a world of love in their eyes. That love
had never been so strong as since the adorable grandchild had appeared
on the scene. It had nearly killed them to part with her, but she was
coming back again. Their night of weeping was turned into a morning of
joy.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />