Her smile, which came and went with her talk, was
sweet and exceedingly intelligent; and something told you, as you looked
at her, that she was one who had had to learn a great deal in this
troublesome life.
"But!"--the Creole lads in the street would say--"--her daughter!"
and there would be lifting of arms, wringing of fingers, rolling of
eyes, rounding of mouths, gaspings and clasping of hands. "So beautiful,
beautiful, beautiful! White?--white like a water lily! White--like a
magnolia!"
Applause would follow, and invocation of all the saints to witness.
And she could sing.
"Sing?" (disdainfully)--"if a mocking-bird can _sing_! Ha!"
They could not tell just how old she was; they "would give her about
seventeen."
Mother and daughter were very fond. The neighbors could hear them call
each other pet names, and see them sitting together, sewing, talking
happily to each other in the unceasing French way, and see them go out
and come in together on their little tasks and errands. "'Tite
Poulette," the daughter was called; she never went out alone.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258