Madame Carambeau wanted it understood that she was not to be disturbed by Gustave’s birthday party. They carried her big rocking-chair from the back gallery, that looked out upon the garden where the children were going to play, around to the front gallery, which closely faced the green levee bank and the Mississippi coursing almost flush with the top of it.  
The house—an old Spanish one, broad, low and completely encircled by a wide gallery—was far down in the French quarter of New Orleans. It stood upon a square of ground that was covered thick with a semi-tropical growth of plants and flowers. An impenetrable board fence, edged with a formidable row of iron , shielded the garden from the glances of the occasional passer-by.
 
156Madame Carambeau’s widowed daughter, Madame Cécile Lalonde, lived with her. This annual party, given to her little son, Gustave, was the one act of Madame Lalonde’s existence. She persisted in it, to her own and the wonder of those who knew her and her mother.
 
For old Madame Carambeau was a woman of many prejudices—so many, in fact, that it would be difficult to name them all. She dogs, cats, organ-grinders, white servants and children’s noises. She despised Americans, Germans and all people of a different faith from her own. Anything not French had, in her opinion, little right to existence.
 
She had not spoken to her son Henri for ten years because he had married an American girl from Prytania street. She would not permit green tea to be introduced into her house, and those who could not or would not drink coffee might drink tisane of fleur de Laurier for all she cared.
 
Nevertheless, the children seemed to be having it all their own way that day, and the organ-grinders were let loose. Old madame, 157in her corner, could hear the screams, the laughter and the music far more distinctly than she liked. She rocked herself noisily, and hummed “Partant pour la Syrie.”
 
She was straight and slender. Her hair was white, and she wore it in on the temples. Her skin was fair and her eyes blue and cold.
 
Suddenly she became aware that footsteps were approaching, and threatening to invade her privacy—not only footsteps, but screams! Then two little children, one in hot pursuit of the other, wildly around the corner near which she sat.
 
The child in advance, a pretty little girl, sprang excitedly into Madame Carambeau’s lap, and threw her arms convulsively around the old lady’s neck. Her companion lightly struck her a “last tag,” and ran laughing gleefully away.
 
The most natural thing for the child to do then would have been to down from madame’s lap, without a “thank you” or a “by your leave,” after the manner of small and thoughtless children. But she did not 158do this. She stayed there, panting and fluttering, like a frightened bird.
 
Madame was greatly annoyed. She moved as if to put the child away from her, and scolded her sharply for being and rude. The little one, who did not understand French, was not disturbed by the reprimand, and stayed on in madame’s lap. She rested her plump little cheek, that was hot and flushed, against the soft white of the old lady’s gown.
 
Her cheek was very hot and very flushed. It was dry, too, and so were her hands. The child’s breathing was quick and irregular. Madame was not long in detecting these signs of .
 
Though she was a creature of prejudice, she was nevertheless a skillful and nurse, and a in all matters to health. She prided herself upon this talent, and never lost an opportunity of exercising it. She would have treated an organ-grinder with tender consideration if one had presented himself in the character of an .
 
159Madame’s manner toward the little one changed immediately. Her arms and her lap were at once adjusted so as to become the most comfortable of resting places. She rocked very gently to and fro. She fanned the child softly with her palm leaf fan, and sang “Partant pour la Syrie” in a low and agreeable tone.
 
The child was content to lie still and a little in that language which madame thought . But the brown eyes were soon swimming in , and the little body grew heavy with sleep in madame’s clasp.
 
When the little girl slept Madame Carambeau arose, and treading carefully and , entered her room, that opened near at hand upon the gallery. The room was large, airy and , with its cool matting upon the floor, and its heavy, old, polished mahogany furniture. Madame, with the child still in her arms, pulled a bell-cord; then she stood waiting, swaying gently back and . Presently an old black woman answered the summons. She wore gold in her ears, and 160a bright knotted fantastically on her head.
 
“Louise, turn down the bed,” commanded madame. “Place that small, soft pillow below the . Here is a poor little unfortunate creature whom must have driven into my arms.” She laid the child carefully down.
 
“Ah, those Americans! Do they deserve to have children? Understanding as little as they do how to take care of them!” said madame, while Louise was an accompanying that would have been to any one unacquainted with the negro .
 
“There, you see, Louise, she is burning up,” remarked madame; —“she is consumed. Unfasten the little bodice while I lift her. Ah, talk to me of such parents! So stupid as not to perceive a fever like that coming on, but they must dress their child up like a monkey to go play and dance to the music of organ-grinders.
 
“Haven’t you better sense, Louise, than to take off a child’s shoe as if you were removing the boot from the leg of a officer?” Madame would have required fairy fingers 161to minister to the sick. “Now go to Mamzelle Cécile, and tell her to send me one of those old, soft, thin nightgowns that Gustave wore two summers ago.”
 
When the woman retired, madame busied herself with a cooling of orange-flower water, and mixing a fresh supply of eau sédative with which agreeably to sponge the little invalid.
 
Madame Lalonde came herself with the old, soft nightgown. She was a pretty, blonde, plump little woman, with the deprecatory air of one whose will has become flaccid from want of use. She was mildly at what her mother had done.
 
“But, mamma! But, mamma, the child’s parents will be sending the carriage for her in a little while. Really, there was no use. Oh dear! oh dear!”
 
If the bedpost had spoken to Madame Carambeau, she would have paid more attention, for speech from such a source would have been at least surprising if not convincing. Madame Lalonde did not possess the of either surprising or convincing her mother.
 
162“Yes, the little one will be quite comfortable in this,” said the old lady, taking the garment from her daughter’s hands.
 
“But, mamma! What shall I say, what shall I do when they send? Oh, dear; oh, dear!”
 
“That is your business,” replied madame, with lofty . “My concern is with a sick child that happens to be under my roof. I think I know my duty ............