CHAPTER II

"Are you ready, Auntie Belle?"

"I'll be ready in five minutes. Now do be quiet, Maisie, like a good girl, and let me finish this letter. I want it to catch the next mail."

Maisie heaved an impatient sigh, and shifted her position from one foot to the other. She was standing in the doorway of her aunt's room, ready dressed for a morning walk, and Auntie Belle was hurriedly finishing a letter, begun several days before, to a girl friend at home. There was a short silence, and then Maisie broke out again--

"Seems to me you are always writing letters, Auntie Belle, how can you think of so many things to say to people?"

Auntie Belle made no answer, but continued scribbling away in silence.

"I never can think of things to say when I write letters," Maisie went on, ignoring her aunt's silence. "Mamma said I must write to Grandma yesterday, and I did, but the letter was only a page long. How many pages is yours?"

"Maisie, if you don't go away and leave me to finish this letter in peace, I shall never be ready to go Christmas shopping with you this morning. I told you I would be through in five minutes, and so I will if you will only leave me alone. Do run away and talk to some one else, and I'll find you when I'm ready."

"All right, I'll go downstairs, and you can meet me in the hall, but be sure you do come in five minutes. If you don't I shall have to come and hurry you up. We've got a great deal of shopping to do this morning, and if we don't start soon we won't be through in time for lunch."

Auntie Belle murmured something unintelligible, and Maisie departed reluctantly. When her aunt came hurrying downstairs some ten minutes later, with her letter in her hand, she found the little girl in the lower hall, in earnest conversation with Madame Strobel, the pleasant-faced landlady.

"I've been telling Madame all about my plan," she explained, "and she's so interested. She knows Celeste and Maman Remo, too."

"Yes, I do indeed," said the landlady, heartily. "Madame Remo has washed for us ever since she came to Nice, and a very good and worthy woman she is. As for the little blind girl, every one is interested in her. Has Mademoiselle perhaps heard her sing?"

"Only once," said Auntie Belle, "and then it was in the distance, but I remember thinking the child had an unusually sweet voice."

"Isn't it pleasant to be doing kind things for 'worthy' people?" remarked Maisie, as she and her aunt walked down the street together. "I think it's one of the pleasantest things I've ever done. Do you know, I've decided to be a philanthropist when I grow up? It's so interesting making other people happy."

Auntie Belle laughed.

"You will have to have plenty of money if you are going to be a philanthropist," she said. "It might be as well to begin to save a little now, don't you think so?"

Maisie's bright face was clouded for a moment, and she looked a little puzzled.

"I hate saving money," she said; "there are always so many things I want to spend it for. Besides, philanthropists are always generous. I don't see how I can save my allowance and be generous at the same time."

"That is a problem which has troubled older heads than yours, I fancy," said Auntie Belle, "but I don't think I would worry about it just yet if I were you. You have had a good many plans for your future, and you know you might happen to change again. I think the last idea was to be a circus rider, wasn't it?"

Maisie felt sure her aunt was laughing at her, and as she objected to being laughed at as much as most little girls do, she hastened to change the subject by saying--

"I keep thinking of more and more things that I want for the tree. It won't do to have candles, because Celeste couldn't see them, and might burn herself if she went too near. I want her to be able to feel all the things, and even take them off the tree herself if she would like to. I suppose it must be a great comfort to a blind person to feel things, don't you?"

Auntie Belle said she supposed it must be, and Maisie chatted on happily.

"First of all, we must buy the statue, because that is the most important. Won't she be happy when she gets it? Then we must have some candy, of course, and a sachet. Françoise says she is sure Celeste would like a sachet with perfume in it. I think I'll get a bottle of cologne, too--blind people must like nice things to smell. Then I want to get a pretty little purse for her to keep her pennies in, and a pair of soft lined gloves to keep her hands warm. I suppose she's too old for toys, but perhaps we can find some pretty little things that she'd like to feel. Mamma's going to give an envelope with money in it, so Maman Remo can buy her some shoes and stockings, but I want all the other things to come from me."

Auntie Belle--who had been much interested in all she had heard of the little blind girl--was quite ready to listen, and sympathize, and the two chatted on pleasantly till they reached the Place Messina, the principal shopping district in Nice.

"It's so much more fun shopping with you than with Françoise," Maisie remarked, with a little skip of delight, as they turned into the busy thoroughfare. "I suppose I ought to be very sorry for her headache, but if she hadn't one this morning, you would have gone off somewhere with papa and mamma, and I shouldn't have had you to help me choose things. Oh, look at those Christmas trees! Don't they smell like home? I was afraid nothing over here was going to seem a bit like Christmas, but it's beginning to, just a little."

It was a glorious morning, and the Place was crowded with busy Christmas shoppers. Many of them were English and Americans, who were wintering at the gay resort, but there was a goodly sprinkling of natives as well, and it seemed to Maisie and her aunt that everybody was looking unusually happy. They had no difficulty in finding the shop with the little statues in the window and Maisie at once recognized Celeste's favorite, the Virgin Mother, with the infant Jesus in her arms.

"I want that one," she announced, before the obliging shop-keeper had time to inquire their wishes. "It costs twenty francs, I know."

The man looked surprised, and Maisie hastened to explain in her friendly way.

"The reason I know how much it costs is because a little blind girl told me. She said you were very kind, and let her take it in her hand one day. She wants it more than anything else in the world, and I'm going to give it to her for a Christmas present."

The shop-keeper's face lighted up with pleasure.

"I remember the child well," he said. "Indeed I would gladly have given her the little image, but alas! we are poor people, and cannot afford to be generous."

Maisie thought he must be a very good man, even if he could not afford to be generous, and she made several other purchases at his shop, as well as the little statue, which Auntie Belle privately considered very ugly.

It took Maisie a long time to buy all she wanted, as each article required a great deal of thought and consideration, and a good part of the morning was passed in the shops. Auntie Belle was most kind and sympathetic, but she grew a little tired after a time, and when at last Maisie's money was nearly all gone, and at least a dozen parcels had been ordered to be sent to their hotel, she proposed that they should not shop any more that morning, but go to Rumpelmeyer's, the big confectioner's, and have a cup of chocolate before going home.

"All right," agreed Maisie, readily, "and please let me treat; I've got nearly three francs left."

Auntie Belle thanked her, but insisted on doing the "treating" herself this time, and ten minutes later they were sitting at a little table, sipping delicious chocolate, with whipped cream on the top.

"My, but this is good!" exclaimed Maisie rapturously. "Do you suppose that poor little Celeste ever has anything as delicious as this?"

"Perhaps she wouldn't consider it delicious," said Auntie Belle. "I once asked a little girl in my mission class whether she liked ice cream, and she replied that it was first rate, but she liked olives and sausage better."

"What a queer taste she must have had," said Maisie, looking disgusted, "but I'm sure Celeste isn't that kind of person at all. Her father was an opera singer, and she has such pretty manners. Even Françoise says she is very refined, and you know Françoise doesn't generally care for poor children."

"I am really very anxious to see that Celeste of yours," said Auntie Belle. "From your description she must be quite a paragon."

"You can see her whenever you want to," said Maisie, eagerly. "Let's go to her house now, on the way home. I know the way, and I can invite her to the Christmas tree."

Auntie Belle glanced doubtfully at her watch.

"It's after twelve," she said; "I'm afraid there won't be time before luncheon."

"Oh, yes there will; we don't have it till half-past one, and you know papa is always late. Mamma said I might stop and ask her this afternoon, when I am out with the ponies, but it would be so much nicer to have you with me."

Auntie Belle yielded. She had really some curiosity to see the child about whom she had heard so much, and besides, she was a very good-natured girl, and was always glad to give any one pleasure.

"Very well," she said; "finish your chocolate, and we will go. I don't suppose it can be far."

Maisie replied that it was not far at all, and proceeded to drink her chocolate so fast that it burnt her tongue.

Just as they were rising to leave the shop, a party of ladies came in, one of whom recognized Auntie Belle as an old acquaintance.

"Why, if it isn't Isabel Barton!" she exclaimed in surprise, as she hurried forward, and smilingly held out her hand. "I had no idea you were here."

"I have been here for over a week," said Auntie Belle, returning her friend's greeting heartily. "I came over in November with my brother and his wife and little girl, and we expect to spend some time here before going to Italy."

"How delightful! We are here for the winter, and have taken a villa. My sister is just over typhoid, and the doctor has sent her to The Riviera to recuperate. We like it immensely here, don't you?"

Auntie Belle said she thought the place beautiful, but rather quiet so early in the season.

"It is rather early for gaiety," her friend agreed, "but we have enjoyed every moment. Of course you have been to the opera."

Auntie Belle replied that they had not been as yet, but that her brother had promised to take them some evening, whereupon her friend--who was an enthusiastic young person--launched forth on an account of a wonderful performance that she and her family had witnessed the previous night.

"You must go," she declared, "if only for the sake of hearing that wonderful young tenor. His voice is simply divine, and every one is wild about him. He made his _début_ in Paris in the autumn, and I believe Hammerstein has engaged him to sing in New York next season. He isn't much more than a boy, and the best-looking creature you ever saw."

"Would you like to be a tenor, Auntie Belle?" Maisie asked, when she and her aunt had at last escaped from the talkative young lady, and were hurrying along the street in the direction of the shabby little house where Celeste Noel lived with Maman Remo.

Auntie Belle laughed heartily. "You funny child," she said; "why in the world should I want to be a tenor?"

"Why, because every one would admire you, and come crowding to hear you sing. I should love to have people admire me. Could a lady be a tenor if she was very fond of music, and studied very hard?"

"Hardly, but she might be a soprano, which I should think would be equally satisfactory."

"Perhaps that is what Celeste will be," said Maisie reflectively. "She has a beautiful voice, and so has her brother Louis, and her father was an opera singer before he caught cold and lost his voice."

Auntie Belle admitted that it might be possible, and then she asked a question about something else, and no more was said on the subject of singers. A brisk walk of ten minutes brought them to the little back street Maisie remembered, and Auntie Belle looked about her with considerable interest. She was used to poverty at home, having spent some months in a New York settlement, and it surprised her to find how much more thrifty foreigners of a similar class appeared to be. Poor and small as these houses were, each one was occupied by a single family, and in many windows she saw blooming plants, while some even boasted a canary in a gilt cage.

"This is where she lives," announced Maisie, pausing before the door through which she had watched the little blind girl disappear two days before. "There doesn't seem to be any door-bell, so I suppose we'd better knock. Oh, listen; she's singing."

One of the windows was open, and through it could be distinctly heard the sound of a clear, childish voice singing an old Christmas Carol. "_Noel, Noel, tous chantantes!_" Auntie Belle loved music dearly, and both played and sang herself. And as she listened to the little blind girl's singing, her expression changed from good-natured curiosity to real interest.

"That child has a beautiful voice," she said, decidedly; "she should not be allowed to strain it."

Maisie was delighted. "I told you what a lovely voice she had," she said triumphantly; "now you see it's true."

Just then Celeste's song came to an end, and the sound of a broom could be heard.

"Maman Remo must be sweeping," said Maisie. "I hope she won't mind our coming before she's finished her work."

Auntie Belle said she did not believe Maman Remo would mind being disturbed, and promptly knocked at the door. There was a moment's silence, then footsteps approached, and the door was opened by the little blind girl herself.

"How do you do, Celeste?" said Maisie, in her friendly way. "I'm Maisie Barton, the girl who brought you home in the pony-cart the other day."

Celeste's face was suddenly irradiated by the brightest of smiles.

"I know you," she cried, eagerly; "I remember your voice. Will you please come in?"

"My aunt is here, too," Maisie explained. "I brought her to see you."

Celeste turned her bright welcoming face in the direction where she believed the stranger to be, and held out her hand.

"It was very kind of you to come," she said, in her pretty, refined little voice. "I am sorry Maman Remo is out."

"We have come to see you," said the young lady, kindly, and she took the little outstretched hand and held it. Auntie Belle spoke French as well as Celeste herself, for she had been educated at a Paris boarding-school.

Celeste led the way into the house, which appeared to consist of but one room on the first floor, and drew two chairs for her visitors. Maisie gazed at her in astonishment, for the little blind girl moved about with as much ease as any seeing person, and appeared to know just where to find everything she wanted. There was a large hole in the bottom of one chair, and the other was also sadly the worse for wear. Maisie was sure she had never seen such a poorly furnished room, but Auntie Belle, accustomed to the homes of poor people at home, took in all the details at a glance, and noticed with satisfaction that the little house was scrupulously neat. Celeste was also neat, though her calico dress had two large darns in the skirt, and her feet were bare.

"We heard some one sweeping before we knocked," remarked Maisie, curiously. "We thought it must be Maman Remo."

"Oh, no, Maman Remo has gone down to the river to wash. I am all alone, but I am never afraid of being alone in the house."

Maisie glanced at the broom, which had been hastily thrust into a corner and her wonder and interest grew.

"Can you really sweep?" she demanded, incredulously.

"Oh, yes, I can do many things. Maman Remo will not let me touch the stove for fear of being burned, but I sweep and wash the dishes, and make the beds."

"You are the most wonderful person I ever heard of," said Maisie, in a tone of conviction. "I always thought blind people just sat still all the time unless somebody led them about."

Celeste's laugh rang out merrily. She had a very musical laugh, and there was something contagious in it, for before they quite realized it, Auntie Belle and Maisie were both laughing, too.

"You should see the children at the school in Paris," said Celeste, when she had recovered her gravity. "They can do many more things than I. The girls sew and knit, and the boys do carpenter's work. Then you should hear them at their recreation. They shout and laugh, and chase each other about the garden. My brother said he had never seen boys play games better than they do."

"It must be a wonderful place," said Maisie, much impressed. "I am going to ask papa to take me there the next time we are in Paris. I shouldn't think it would be so very bad to be blind, after all."

A shadow crossed Celeste's bright face.

"It may not be so bad if one has money and people to take one about," she said, gravely, "but it is hard to be always dependent upon some one who does not want the trouble."

"Do you mean Pierre?" inquired Maisie, with a sudden recollection of what the little blind girl had told her about Maman Remo's boy.

Celeste nodded, and her lip quivered slightly.

"Pierre always hated taking me about," she said, "but there was no one else to do it, for poor Maman Remo is busy all day long. Now Pierre has run away, and I don't know how I am ever going to earn any more money."

"Run away?" repeated Maisie. "What a dreadful thing! What made him do it?"

"He has been threatening to do it for a long time. He wants to go to sea and be a sailor. We hoped he would not really go, at least not until he is older, for he is only fifteen, but the day he left me alone on the Promenade Anglaise, and you brought me home, Maman Remo was very angry, and she threatened to beat him if he ever did such a thing again, Pierre was furious, and went out, saying he would never come back. Maman Remo did not believe him at first, but when night came, and he did not come home, she was frightened, and at last she went out to look for him, but she could not find him, and when she came back again I heard her crying for a long time. That was two days ago, and Pierre has never come home since and now we are sure he has really gone for good. A man, Maman Remo knows, thinks he saw him far out on the road that leads to Marseilles, where the big ships are, but it is such a long way off, maman is afraid he may die of hunger before he reaches there."

"He is such a bad boy that I shouldn't think she would care very much what happened to him," said Maisie. But Celeste looked quite horrified.

"I think all mothers must love their children whether they are bad or good," she said. "Maman Remo loves Pierre, bad as he is, just as much as my own maman loved Louis, who was the best boy in the world. It has nearly broken her heart to have him run away like this. I would not mind myself, for Pierre was often very unkind, but now that he is gone there is no one to take me to sing in front of the hotels. I cannot earn any more money, and we need money so much."

"We heard you singing before we came in," said Maisie, "and Auntie Belle said you had a beautiful voice."

"I did indeed think so," said Auntie Belle, kindly. It was the first time she had spoken since coming into the little house, but it was never easy to break in upon Maisie's chatter, and she had really been interested in the conversation of the children. "I think you have a very sweet voice, and I hope that you may be able to have it properly trained when you are older."

Celeste looked much flattered.

"If I could go to the school for the blind," she said, "I could have regular singing lessons. That was one reason why maman and Louis were so anxious to send me there."

"Perhaps you will be a soprano when you grow up," remarked Maisie, glad of an opportunity of airing her new word. "You can't be a tenor because you are a girl. There is a very wonderful tenor singing at the opera here now. A young lady was telling Auntie Belle about him this morning."

"I know," said Celeste, eagerly; "I have heard of him, too. Madame Dupont--Antoine's mother--goes to the opera sometimes, and she heard him last week. She says he has the voice of an angel. Oh, what would I not give to hear him!"

"Have you ever been to the opera?" Maisie inquired, wonderingly. To her the opera was merely a rather tiresome place, where people were obliged to sit very still, and not even whisper, and where little girls were sometimes taken on Saturday afternoons, because their mammas hoped it might improve their taste in music. Celeste, however, appeared to have different ideas about it.

"No, I have never been," she said, regretfully. "I was too little to go when my papa sang there, and it is much too expensive for Maman Remo. Perhaps I shall go some day, if Louis ever comes home, for he loves the opera better than any other place in the world, and I am sure I should love it, too."

Maisie looked doubtful.

"Perhaps you might be disappointed," she said, "I was disappointed the first time mamma took me, but then I can't sing, and perhaps that makes all the difference."

At this moment Auntie Belle glanced at her watch, and rose to go.

"I am afraid we cannot stay any longer, Maisie," she said, "or we shall be late for luncheon. Don't forget to tell Celeste what you came for."

"Of course I won't forget," said Maisie, laughing; "I was just keeping it for the last. Celeste, I came to invite you to my Christmas Tree. We are going to have it on Christmas morning at eleven o'clock."

"A Christmas Tree!" gasped Celeste, clasping her hands rapturously. "Oh, how beautiful! I have never been to a Christmas Tree, but I have smelled of them in the street."

"Well, I hope you will do something more than smell one this time," said Maisie. "Mamma says she will be glad to see Maman Remo, too, if she can bring you. I think she knows our landlady, Madame Strobel."

"Oh, yes, Madame Strobel is our good friend, and I am sure Maman will bring me, for she never washes on Christmas. But--but--you are so good; is there not something I can do for you?"

"I don't want anything--" began Maisie, but Auntie Belle, noticing the child's eager, wistful expression, hastened to add kindly--

"You can do something for us now if you will. Let us hear one song before we go. We have only time for one."

Celeste was charmed, and standing with folded hands, and a look of quiet rapture on her face, she sang the beautiful Christmas song, beginning "_Noel, Joyeuse Noel_."

There were tears in Auntie Belle's eyes when the little blind girl had finished her song, and the tone in which she thanked her was not quite steady.

"Isn't she interesting and wonderful and dear?" burst out Maisie, the moment Maman Remo's door had closed behind them, and her aunt answered heartily--

"She is one of the sweetest children I have ever seen, and I am sure your papa will be fascinated by her voice."