2. CHAPTER II.
HOW MR. SANSOUCY NEARLY RAN OVER A WOMAN, AND
WHAT FOLLOWED.
Doubtless Mr. Sansoucy heard this faint exclamation,
for his countenance assumed an expression of mischievous
pleasure, wholly unmistakeable.
Did you speak, madam?” he said, politely.
“No, sir—”
“Really, now?”
“Not to you, at least.”
“Oh, yes—to the bridge. I forgot that you addressed
the bridge.”
“Why should I be so foolish as to apostrophize such a
thing?”
“Very true; and as this is ended, madam, we may proceed
to make our little arrangements.”
“Our little arrangements, sir!”
“Certainly!”
“Really, I am at a loss—”
“To understand?”
“Precisely, sir—at least—that is—”
And Miss Aurelia, detecting herself in the utterance
of a most unmistakeable fib, blushes ingenuously, and
murmurs:
“How foolish you are!”
Mr. Sansoucy laughs triumphantly, and says:
“Certainly we are foolish—both of us—and what makes
it more ridiculous—what will cause the readers of the
before-mentioned romance about us to cry out in deprecation—is,
that we are so old. You are nearly nineteen,
madam—or quite—I am at least a hundred.”
“Are you, sir?”
“Yes, and never have been married; what a shame!”
“Dreadful, sir!”
“Therefore, as we are so old, we need not discuss the
`little arrangements' among ourselves; but these children,
here, require instruction.”
Aurelia, with a laugh half of defiance, half of pleading,
murmurs:
“Oh, you will not—please don't!”
“Don't what, cousin?” says Bel, full of curiosity,
as she catches the faintly uttered words.
“I'll explain, Miss Isabella,” said Mr. Sansoucy, laughing.
“You must know, Miss, that in old times there was
an English law of custom making it proper, and even
necessary, to salute—in other words, kiss—young maidens
passing beneath the mistletoe bough hung from the
rafters. This custom has passed away—but it is replaced.
In modern times, every gentleman of proper feeling is
compelled to salute a lady who in riding with him in a
sleigh, crosses a bridge!”
“Oh!” cries Bel, wonderingly; “to kiss?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“So you and cousin—”
“Yes, exactly. You're a young lady of intelligence.
You have no cavalier, now, Liz. The consequence will
be that it will be necessary to salute each other—here
we are! Recollect, now!”
As Mr. Sansoucy spoke, the sleigh darted on the bridge
—but alas! for human anticipations.
His fairness, and open dealing as he afterwards said,
was his ruin. Aurelia, warned in advance, and on her
guard, no sooner saw the bridge imminently near, than
covering her face with her great white snow-ball ornamented
comfort, she held it securely, thus, defeating the
enemy completely.
Not wholly, however. The small white hand holding
up the comfort suddenly found itself in contact with a
pair of warm lips, which imprinted upon it a burning
salute; which circumstance caused the rosy face beneath
to present a striking contrast to the snowy worsted.
The merry party then fled onward, merrier than ever
and with laughter drowning all the silver chimes.
Aurelia declared that she had triumphed—Mr. Sansoucy
assured her that his utmost expectations had been
fulfilled; and in the middle of these protestations little
Bel burst into a laugh, and related how she had “acted
gentleman” and stolen her kiss, in obedience to instructions.
Soon after passing the bridge, Mr. Sansoucy looked at
his watch and said that it was time to return, if the ladies
were willing. The children were rebellious, but Aurelia
acquiesced; and so they came back as rapidly as they
went forth. This time Miss Aurelia enveloped her whole
head in her fur robe, and Mr. Sansoucy gave up in
despair;—and so they glided on again, talking and
laughing merrily.
The ride was, however, not to end without an incident.
The sleigh had reached a hill scarcely half a mile from
the city, and had commenced the rapid descent, when an
exclamation from Aurelia, to whom Mr. Sansoucy was
talking, caused that gentleman to suddenly turn his head,
and hold back his reins vigorously.
It was barely time to prevent the sleigh from running
over a woman, who had been walking in the middle of
the road, and who had been concealed from them by the
interposition of the steep hill.
The knee of one of the horses brushed her violently:
and starting back suddenly, she slipped upon the hard
road, and fell.
Nothing but the full exertion of his whole strength
enabled Mr. Sansoucy to retain the horses in their places;
but half resting on their vigorous haunches, they stopped,
trembling, and with necks curved into bows by the powerful
tension of the reins.
The woman, who was miserably clad, and had evidently
travelled far, rose to her feet, and removed from the road.
As she did so, she looked intently at Mr. Sansoucy, and
seemed to be startled and frightened.
“I hope you are not hurt—I was careless,” he said,
“the hill prevented me from seeing you.”
The woman continued to gaze at him, with the same
startled look, but said nothing.
“Are you hurt?” repeated Mr. Sansoucy, kindly.
She shook her head; but continued to stare at him.
“I am very glad,” he said, “it was unpardonable in me
to be so careless. You look poor, my good woman—
take this to make you forget my carelessness.”
And Mr. Sansoucy extended a piece of money toward
her; and threw it to her feet.
The woman did not take it up; but stared still at him:
then opening her lips, which were cracked with cold, she
said, with a foreign accent.
“Are you a son of Mr. Sansoucy of Sunnyside?”
“Yes,” he said, wonderingly, “do you know my father?”
An expression of wretchedness passed over the woman's
face; and she muttered:
“I thought so, I thought so! It would have been a
just punishment, if the horses had killed me!”
Mr. Sansoucy caught the last portion of the sentence,
and said:
“If they had killed you!”
“Yes,” said the woman, “I deserve it. It is only
another evidence of the mercy of heaven!”
The expression of Mr. Sansoucy's face, indicated such
profound astonishment, that the woman seemed to feel all
at once that she was speaking in riddles.
She looked at Aurelia and the children for a moment—
hesitated—then shook her head: and fixing her eyes on
Mr. Sansoucy's face again: said in the same low tone,
which she had employed throughout the conversation:
“Do you live in the city?”
“Yes,” he said, unable to say more.
“Where?” asked the woman.
Mr. Sansoucy unconsciously took a card from his pocket.
“Yes,” said the woman, “give it to me. I can read
well enough, though you may not think it from my appearance.
I looked better once.”
And extending her hand, she took the card, and placed
it in her ragged bosom.
“Drive on!” she said, “do not mind me: I am used
to walking.”
It was some moments before Mr. Sansoucy could collect
self-possession enough to offer to make room for the woman
in his sleigh. But she refused again; and taking no
notice of the coin, covered her head with an old blanket,
and took her way onward in silence toward the city.
Mr. Sansoucy gazed after her, shook his head in a way
which indicated a doubt of the woman's sanity, and then
giving the word to his horses, flew onward past the woman,
who was soon shut out from his view.
We need not chronicle the world of conjectures which
were made, and discussed, and dropped, by Mr. Sansoucy
and his companion. The insanity view, however, gained
the preëminence, and Aurelia shook her head pityingly:
“The author who writes your adventures would scarcely
be able to explain this meeting,” she said, smiling, “it is
so strange.”
“We shall see,” was Mr. Sansoucy's reply.
And the sleigh darting into the street, fled onward, gaily
ringing as it went, and soon landed Miss Aurelia and the
children at their home.
