Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe - Honor Bright

Laura E. Richards Honor Bright / A Story for Girls

CHAPTER I AT PENSION MADELEINE

When the child was six, the climate began to tell upon her, as it does on all white children, and her parents were warned that she must leave India. They brought her to Switzerland, to Vevay, the paradise of schoolgirls, and left her there with many tears. Since then she had seen them only twice or thrice; the journey was long and hard; her mother delicate.

The last time they came, it was a festival for the whole school. Mrs. Bright, beautiful and gentle, like a jasmine-flower, as Stephanie Langolles said; Mr. Bright, kind and bluff, his pockets always full of chocolate, his eyes twinkling with friendliness; they were in and out of the Pension constantly, during the month they spent at the Grand Hotel in Vevay. It was destructive to school routine, but as Madame Madeleine said to Soeur Séraphine, what would you? The case was exceptional. How to deny anything to these parents, so tender, and so desolated at parting from their cherished infant? Happily another year would, under the Providence of God, see this so affectionate family happily and permanently united.

One more little year, said Mrs. Bright, as she embraced Honor at parting. Then Papas long task is done, and we shall go home, and take you with us. Home to our own dear country, my little one, where children can live and be well. No more pensions for you, no more strange lands for us. Home, for all three; home and happiness!

And now, sighed Soeur Séraphine. At twelve years old, an orphan! Our poor little one! And she has seen them so seldom; what tragedy!

Madame Madeleine shook her head sorrowfully. As for that, my sister, she said, it appears to me less tragic than if these so-honored parents had surrounded, as it were, the daily life of the child. Tiens! She has been with us four years, is it not so? In that period she has seen her parents thrice, a week each time. What would you? A child is a child. Honor weeps to-day; to-morrow she will dry her tears; after to-morrow she will smile; in a month she will forget. And there, if you will, is tragedy!

Madame Madeleine was right. A week after the sad news came, Honor was telling Stephanie (who had been away for a fortnight) all about it: I must not say with enjoyment, for that would be untrue: but with a dramatic interest more thrilling than sorrowful.

Figure to yourself! she said. We are in the classroom: it is arithmetic, and I am breaking my head over a problem wholly frightful. On the estrade is Madame, calm as a statue, her little white shawl over her shoulders, comme ça . Vivette is making signs to Loulou: it is the peace of every day. Enter Margoton, a telegramme in the hand. Madame opens it; reads; a cry escapes her. Calming herself on the instant, she bids us be très sages , and leaves the room. Shortly appears our Sister, and calling me tenderly to her side, takes my hand and conducts me to Madames boudoir. There I hear the fearful tidings. My parents are in Paradise!

Honor paused, and drew a long breath, shaking her hair back with a dramatic gesture. Stephanie clasped her hands.

Chèrie , how terrible! But continue! What how did this happen? An accident?

Cholera! (I fear Honor

was enjoying this part!) The choléra Asiatique , most terrible of all diseases, bringing death in an instant. Two days ago, figure to thyself, Stephanie: two days ago, they were in health: Mamán, whom you remember, all beautiful; Papa, good as bread, who overwhelmed us with chocolate the pestilence breathed upon them, and Heaven opened to receive them. Ah! that is terrible, if you will!

The two girls were sitting together in Honors little room. Ordinarily, they would have sat on the floor, but to-day her mourning was to be considered. The waxed floor shone with a brilliant polish; no speck of dust was visible anywhere in the spotless cell (it was hardly more in size); still, one could not be too careful.

Black is very becoming to thee, my poor dear! said Stephanie. Thy hair is like a cloud of golden fire above it. Nothing could be more beautiful, I assure thee.

Honor looked anxiously in the little mirror that hung over the chest of drawers. It was a pleasant image that she saw; a round rosy face, with a pretty, wilful mouth, dark blue eyes heavily fringed with black lashes, a straight little nose, and, as Stephanie said, a perfect cloud of curly red-gold hair. All this, I say, was pleasant enough; but Honor did not notice the general effect; what she saw was a collection of small brown spots on the bridge of the straight little nose, and extending to the cheeks. Freckles! No one else at Madame Madeleines had freckles. Patricia Desmond, with her complexion like moonlight on ivory; Vivette, with the crimson glow mantling in her brown cheeks, Stephanie herself with her smooth, pale skin

Ah! cried poor Honor. This hideous disfigurement! Shall I ever outgrow it, I wonder? Maman said I should, but I know not!

Stephanie thought the freckles quite as dreadful as Honor did, and looked her sympathy.