Passing languidly up through the house after breakfast, unable to decide to spend her Saturday morning as usual at a piano in one of the bedrooms, Miriam went, wondering in response to a quiet call from Fräulein Pfaff into the large room shared by the Bergmanns and Ulrica Hesse. Explaining that Clara was now to take possession of the half of Elsa Speier’s room that had been left empty by Minna—“poor Minna now with her good parents seeking health in the Swiss mountains, schooldays at an end, at an end, at an end,” she repeated mournfully. Fräulein indicated that Clara’s third of the large room would now be Miriam’s.
Miriam stood incredulous at her side as she indicated a large empty chest of drawers, a white covered bed in a deep corner away from the window, a small drawer in the dressing table and five pegs in a large French wardrobe. Emma was going very gravely about the room collecting her workbasket and things for raccommodage. She flung one ecstatic glance at Miriam as she went away with these.
“I shall hold you responsible here amongst these dear children, Miss Henderson,” fluted Fräulein, quietly gathering up a few last things of Minna’s collected on the bed, “our dear Ulrica and our little Emma,” she smiled, passing out, leaving Miriam standing in the wonderful room.
“My goodney,” she breathed, gathering gently clenched fists close to her person. She stood for a few moments; she felt like a visitor … embroidered toilet covers, polished furniture, gold and cream crockery, lace curtains, white beds, the large screen cutting off her third of the room … then she rushed headlong upstairs, a member of the downstairs landing, to collect her belongings.
On the landing just outside the door of the garret bedroom stood a huge wicker travelling basket; a clumsy umbrella with a large knobby handle, like a man’s umbrella, lay on the top of it partly covering a large pair of goloshes.
She was tired and very warm by the time everything was arranged in her new quarters.
Taking a last look round she caught the eye of Eve’s photograph gazing steadily at her from the chest of drawers. … It would be quite easy now that this had happened to write and tell them that the Pomerania plan had come to nothing.
Evidently Fräulein approved of her, after all.
In the schoolroom she found the raccommodage party gathered round the table. At its head sat Mademoiselle, her arms flung out upon the table and her face buried against them.
“Cheer up, Mademoiselle,” said Jimmie as Miriam took an empty chair between Gertrude and the Martins.
Timidly meeting Gertrude’s eye Miriam received her half smile, watched her eyebrows flicker faintly up and the little despairing shrug she gave as she went on with her mending.
“Ah, mammazellchen c’est pas mal, ne soyez triste, mein Gott mammazellchen es ist aber nichts!” chided Emma consolingly from her place near the window.
“Oh! je ne veux pas, je ne veux pas,” sobbed Mademoiselle.
No one spoke; Mademoiselle lay snuffling and shuddering. Solomon’s scissors fell on to the floor. “Mais pourquoi pas, Mademoiselle?” she interrogated as she recovered them.
“Pourquoi, pourquoi!” choked Mademoiselle. Her suffused little face came up for a moment towards Solomon. She met Miriam’s gaze as if she did not see her. “Vous me demandez pourquoi je ne veux pas partager ma chambre avec une femme mariée?” Her head sank again and her little grey form jerked sharply as she sobbed.
“Probably a widder, Mademoiselle,” ventured Bertha Martin, “oon voove.”
“Verve, Bertha,” came Millie’s correcting voice and Miriam’s interest changed to excited thoughts of Fräulein—not hating her, and choosing Mademoiselle to sleep with the servant, a new servant—the things on the landing—Mademoiselle refusing to share a room with a married woman … she felt about round this idea as Millie’s prim, clear voice went on … her eyes clutched at Mademoiselle, begging to understand … she gazed at the little down-flung head, fine little tendrils frilling along the edge of her hair, her little hard grey shape, all miserable and ashamed. It was dreadful. Miriam felt she could not bear it. She turned away. It was a strange new thought that anyone should object to being with a married woman … would she object? or Harriett? Not unless it were suggested to them. … Was there some special refinement in this French girl that none of them understood? Why should it be refined to object to share a room with a married woman? A cold shadow closed in on Miriam’s mind.
“I don’t care,” said Millie almost quickly, with a crimson face. “It’s a special occasion. I think Mademoiselle ought to complain. If I were in her place I should write home. It’s not right. Fräulein has no right to make her sleep with a servant.”
“Why can’t the servant sleep in one of the back attics?” asked Solomon.
“Not furnished, my sweetheart,” said Gertrude, “and you know Kinder you’re all running on very fast about servants—the good Frau is our housekeeper.”
“Will she have meals with us?”
“Gewiss Jimmie, meals.”
“Mon Dieu, vous êtes terribles, toutes!” came Mademoiselle’s voice. It seemed to bite into the table. “Oh, c’est grossière!” She gathered herself up and escaped into the little schoolroom.
“Armes, armes, Momzell,” wailed Ulrica gently gazing out of the window.
“Som one should go, go you, Henchen,” urged Emma.
“Don’t, for goodness’ sake, Hendy,” begged Jimmie, “not you, she’s wild about you going downstairs,” she whispered.
Miriam struggled with her
