When they brought her to herself, Olive was kneeling at her head
silently weeping.
"_Maman, chere maman_!" said the girl softly, kissing her lips.
"_Ma courri c'ez moin_"--I will go home--said the mother, drearily.
"You will go home with me," said Madame Varrillat, with great kindness
of manner--"just across the street here; I will take care of you till
you feel better. And Olive will stay here with Madame Thompson. You will
be only the width of the street apart."
But Madame Delphine would go nowhere but to her home. Olive she would
not allow to go with her. Then they wanted to send a servant or two to
sleep in the house with her for aid and protection; but all she would
accept was the transient service of a messenger to invite two of her
kinspeople--man and wife--to come and make their dwelling with her.
In course of time these two--a poor, timid, helpless pair--fell heir to
the premises. Their children had it after them; but, whether in those
hands or these, the house had its habits and continued in them; and to
this day the neighbors, as has already been said, rightly explain its
close-sealed, uninhabited look by the all-sufficient statement that the
inmates "is quadroons.
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