A Matter of Prejudice

by Kate Chopin

MADAME Carambeau wanted it strictly understood that she was not to be disturbed by
Gustave's birthday party. They carried her big rocking-chair from the back gallery, that
looked out upon the garden where the children were going to play, around to the front gallery,
which closely faced the green levee bank and the Mississippi coursing almost flush with the
top of it.

The house - an old Spanish one, broad, low and completely encircled by a wide gallery - was
far down in the French quarter of New Orleans. It stood upon a square of ground that was
covered thick with a semi-tropical growth of plants and flowers. An impenetrable board
fence, edged with a formidable row of iron spikes, shielded the garden from the prying
glances of the occasional passer-by.

Madame Carambeau's widowed daughter, Madame Cécile Lalonde, lived with her. This
annual party, given to her little son, Gustave, was the one defiant act of Madame Lalonde's
existence. She persisted in it, to her own astonishment and the wonder of those who knew her
and her mother.

For old Madame Carambeau was a woman of many prejudices - so many, in fact, that it
would be difficult to name them all. She detested dogs, cats, organ-grinders, white servants
and children's noises. She despised Americans, Germans and all people of a different faith
from her own. Anything not French had, in her opinion, little right to existence.

She had not spoken to her son Henri for ten years because he had married an American girl
from Prytania street. She would not permit green tea to be introduced into her house, and
those who could not or would not drink coffee might drink tisane of fleur de Laurier for all
she cared.

Nevertheless, the children seemed to be having it all their own way that day, and the organ-
grinders were let loose. Old madame, in her retired corner, could hear the screams, the
laughter and the music far more distinctly than she liked. She rocked herself noisily, and
hummed "Partant pour la Syrie."

She was straight and slender. Her hair was white, and she wore it in puffs on the temples. Her
skin was fair and her eyes blue and cold.

Suddenly she became aware that footsteps were approaching, and threatening to invade her
privacy - not only footsteps, but screams! Then two little children, one in hot pursuit of the
other, darted wildly around the corner near which she sat.

The child in advance, a pretty little girl, sprang excitedly into Madame Carambeau's lap, and
threw her arms convulsively around the old lady's neck. Her companion lightly struck her a
"last tag," and ran laughing gleefully away.
The most natural thing for the child to do then would have been to wriggle down from
madame's lap, without a "thank you" or a "by your leave," after the manner of small and
thoughtless children. But she did not do this. She stayed there, panting and fluttering, like a
frightened bird.

Madame was greatly annoyed. She moved as if to put the child away from her, and scolded
her sharply for being boisterous and rude. The little one, who did not understand French, was
not disturbed by the reprimand, and stayed on in madame's lap. She rested her plump little
cheek, that was hot and flushed, against the soft white linen of the old lady's gown.

Her cheek was very hot and very flushed. It was dry, too, and so were her hands. The child's
breathing was quick and irregular. Madame was not long in detecting these signs of
disturbance.

Though she was a creature of prejudice, she was nevertheless a skillful and accomplished
nurse, and a connoisseur in all matters pertaining to health. She prided herself upon this
talent, and never lost an opportunity of exercising it. She would have treated an organ-grinder
with tender consideration if one had presented himself in the character of an invalid.

Madame's manner toward the little one changed immediately. Her arms and her lap were at
once adjusted so as to become the most comfortable of resting places. She rocked very gently
to and fro. She fanned the child softly with her palm leaf fan, and sang "Partant pour la Syrie"
in a low and agreeable tone.

The child was perfectly content to lie still and prattle a little in that language which madame
thought hideous. But the brown eyes were soon swimming in drowsiness, and the little body
grew heavy with sleep in madame's clasp.

When the little girl slept Madame Carambeau arose, and treading carefully and deliberately,
entered her room, that opened near at hand upon the gallery. The room was large, airy and
inviting, with its cool matting upon the floor, and its heavy, old, polished mahogany
furniture. Madame, with the child still in her arms, pulled a bell-cord; then she stood waiting,
swaying gently back and forth. Presently an old black woman answered the summons. She
wore gold hoops in her ears, and a bright bandanna knotted fantastically on her head.

"Louise, turn down the bed," commanded madame. "Place that small, soft pillow below the
bolster. Here is a poor little unfortunate creature whom Providence must have driven into my
arms." She laid the child carefully down.

"Ah, those Americans! Do they deserve to have children? Understanding as little as they do
how to take care of them!" said madame, while Louise was mumbling an accompanying
assent that would have been unintelligible to any one unacquainted with the negro patois.

"There, you see, Louise, she is burning up," remarked madame; "she is consumed. Unfasten
the little bodice while I lift her. Ah, talk to me of such parents! So stupid as not to perceive a
fever like that coming on, but they must dress their child up like a monkey to go play and
dance to the music of organ- grinders.

"Haven't you better sense, Louise, than to take off a child's shoe as if you were removing the
boot from the leg of a cavalry officer?" Madame would have required fairy fingers to minister
to the sick. "Now go to Mamzelle Cécile, and tell her to send me one of those old, soft, thin
nightgowns that Gustave wore two summers ago."

When the woman retired, madame busied herself with concocting a cooling pitcher of
orange-flower water, and mixing a fresh supply of eau sédative with which agreeably to
sponge the little invalid.

Madame Lalonde came herself with the old, soft nightgown. She was a pretty, blonde, plump
little woman, with the deprecatory air of one whose will has become flaccid from want of
use. She was mildly distressed at what her mother had done.

"But, mamma! But, mamma, the child's parents will be sending the carriage for her in a little
while. Really, there was no use. Oh dear! oh dear!"

If the bedpost had spoken to Madame Carambeau, she would have paid more attention, for
speech from such a source would have been at least surprising if not convincing. Madame
Lalonde did not possess the faculty of either surprising or convincing her mother.

"Yes, the little one will be quite comfortable in this," said the old lady, taking the garment
from her daughter's irresolute hands.

"But, mamma! What shall I say, what shall I do when they send? Oh, dear; oh, dear!"

"That is your business," replied madame, with lofty indifference. "My concern is solely with
a sick child that happens to be under my roof. I think I know my duty at this time of life,
Cécile."

As Madame Lalonde predicted, the carriage soon came, with a stiff English coachman
driving it, and a red-checked Irish nurse-maid seated inside. Madame would not even permit
the maid to see her little charge. She had an original theory that the Irish voice is distressing
to the sick.

Madame Lalonde sent the girl away with a long letter of explanation that must have satisfied
the parents; for the child was left undisturbed in Madame Carambeau's care. She was a sweet
child, gentle and affectionate. And, though she cried and fretted a little throughout the night
for her mother, she seemed, after all, to take kindly to madame's gentle nursing. It was not
much of a fever that afflicted her, and after two days she was well enough to be sent back to
her parents.

Madame, in all her varied experience with the sick, had never before nursed so objectionable
a character as an American child. But the trouble was that after the little one went away, she
could think of nothing really objectionable against her except the accident of her birth, which
was, after all, her misfortune; and her ignorance of the French language, which was not her
fault.

But the touch of the caressing baby arms; the pressure of the soft little body in the night; the
tones of the voice, and the feeling of the hot lips when the child kissed her, believing herself
to be with her mother, were impressions that had sunk through the crust of madame's
prejudice and reached her heart.
She often walked the length of the gallery, looking out across the wide, majestic river.
Sometimes she trod the mazes of her garden where the solitude was almost that of a tropical
jungle. It was during such moments that the seed began to work in her soul - the seed planted
by the innocent and undesigning hands of a little child.

The first shoot that it sent forth was Doubt. Madame plucked it away once or twice. But it
sprouted again, and with it Mistrust and Dissatisfaction. Then from the heart of the seed, and
amid the shoots of Doubt and Misgiving, came the flower of Truth. It was a very beautiful
flower, and it bloomed on Christmas morning.

As Madame Carambeau and her daughter were about to enter her carriage on that Christmas
morning, to be driven to church, the old lady stopped to give an order to her black coachman,
François. François had been driving these ladies every Sunday morning to the French
Cathedral for so many years - he had forgotten exactly how many, but ever since he had
entered their service, when Madame Lalonde was a little girl. His astonishment may therefore
be imagined when Madame Carambeau said to him:

"François, to-day you will drive us to one of the American churches."

"Plait-il, madame?" the negro stammered, doubting the evidence of his hearing.

"I say, you will drive us to one of the American churches. Any one of them," she added, with
a sweep of her hand. "I suppose they are all alike," and she followed her daughter into the
carriage.

Madame Lalonde's surprise and agitation were painful to see, and they deprived her of the
ability to question, even if she had possessed the courage to do so.

François, left to his fancy, drove them to St. Patrick's Church on Camp street. Madame
Lalonde looked and felt like the proverbial fish out of its element as they entered the edifice.
Madame Carambeau, on the contrary, looked as if she had been attending St. Patrick's church
all her life. She sat with unruffled calm through the long service and through a lengthy
English sermon, of which she did not understand a word.

When the mass was ended and they were about to enter the carriage again, Madame
Carambeau turned, as she had done before, to the coachman.

"François," she said, coolly, "you will now drive us to the residence of my son, M. Henri
Carambeau. No doubt Mamzelle Cécile can inform you where it is," she added, with a
sharply penetrating glance that caused Madame Lalonde to wince.

Yes, her daughter Cécile knew, and so did François, for that matter. They drove out St.
Charles avenue - very far out. It was like a strange city to old madame, who had not been in
the American quarter since the town had taken on this new and splendid growth.

The morning was a delicious one, soft and mild; and the roses were all in bloom. They were
not hidden behind spiked fences. Madame appeared not to notice them, or the beautiful and
striking residences that lined the avenue along which they drove. She held a bottle of
smelling-salts to her nostrils, as though she were passing through the most unsavory instead
of the most beautiful quarter of New Orleans.
Henri's house was a very modern and very handsome one, standing a little distance away
from the street. A well-kept lawn, studded with rare and charming plants, surrounded it. The
ladies, dismounting, rang the bell, and stood out upon the banquette, waiting for the iron gate
to be opened.

A white maid-servant admitted them. Madame did not seem to mind. She handed her a card
with all proper ceremony, and followed with her daughter to the house.

Not once did she show a sign of weakness; not even when her son, Henri, came and took her
in his arms and sobbed and wept upon her neck as only a warm-hearted Creole could. He was
a big, good-looking, honest-faced man, with tender brown eyes like his dead father's and a
firm mouth like his mother's.

Young Mrs. Carambeau came, too, her sweet, fresh face transfigured with happiness. She led
by the hand her little daughter, the "American child" whom madame had nursed so tenderly a
month before, never suspecting the little one to be other than an alien to her.

"What a lucky chance was that fever! What a happy accident!" gurgled Madame Lalonde.

"Cécile, it was no accident, I tell you; it was Providence," spoke madame, reprovingly, and
no one contradicted her.

They all drove back together to eat Christmas dinner in the old house by the river. Madame
held her little granddaughter upon her lap; her son Henri sat facing her, and beside her was
her daughter-in-law.

Henri sat back in the carriage and could not speak. His soul was possessed by a pathetic joy
that would not admit of speech. He was going back again to the home where he was born,
after a banishment of ten long years.

He would hear again the water beat against the green levee-bank with a sound that was not
quite like any other that he could remember. He would sit within the sweet and solemn
shadow of the deep and overhanging roof; and roam through the wild, rich solitude of the old
garden, where he had played his pranks of boyhood and dreamed his dreams of youth. He
would listen to his mother's voice calling him, "mon fils," as it had always done before that
day he had had to choose between mother and wife. No; he could not speak.

But his wife chatted much and pleasantly - in a French, however, that must have been trying
to old madame to listen to.

"I am so sorry, ma mère," she said, "that our little one does not speak French. It is not my
fault, I assure you," and she flushed and hesitated a little. "It - it was Henri who would not
permit it."

"That is nothing," replied madame, amiably, drawing the child close to her. "Her
grandmother will teach her French; and she will teach her grandmother English. You see, I
have no prejudices. I am not like my son. Henri was always a stubborn boy. Heaven only
knows how he came by such a character!"
Masalah of Prejudice
oleh Kate Chopin

MADAME Carambeau menginginkannya ketat mengerti bahwa dia tidak akan terganggu oleh pesta
ulang tahun Gustave itu. Mereka membawa besar goyang-kursinya dari galeri belakang, yang
tampak pada taman di mana anak-anak akan bermain, sekitar untuk galeri depan, yang erat
menghadapi bank tanggul hijau dan Mississippi mengalir hampir rata dengan bagian atas itu .

Rumah - sebuah Spanyol yang lama, luas, rendah dan benar-benar dikelilingi oleh galeri yang luas -
jauh turun di kuartal Perancis dari New Orleans. Ini berdiri di atas persegi tanah yang ditutupi tebal
dengan pertumbuhan semi-tropis tanaman dan bunga. Pagar papan ditembus, bermata dengan
deretan tangguh dari paku besi, terlindung taman dari tatapan mencongkel sesekali lewat.

Janda anak Madame Carambeau itu, Madame Cécile Lalonde, tinggal bersamanya. Pesta tahunan ini,
yang diberikan kepada anak lelakinya, Gustave, adalah salah satu tindakan menantang keberadaan
Madame Lalonde itu. Dia bertahan di dalamnya, dengan takjub sendiri dan keajaiban mereka yang
mengenalnya dan ibunya.

Untuk tua Madame Carambeau adalah seorang wanita banyak prasangka - begitu banyak, pada
kenyataannya, bahwa akan sulit untuk nama mereka semua. Dia membenci anjing, kucing, organ-
penggiling, hamba putih dan suara anak-anak. Dia membenci Amerika, Jerman dan semua orang dari
keyakinan yang berbeda dari dirinya sendiri. Apa pun tidak Perancis memiliki, menurut dia, sedikit
hak untuk eksistensi.

Dia tidak berbicara dengan anaknya Henri selama sepuluh tahun karena ia telah menikah dengan
seorang gadis Amerika dari Prytania jalan. Dia tidak akan mengizinkan teh hijau untuk diperkenalkan
ke rumahnya, dan mereka yang tidak bisa atau tidak akan minum kopi mungkin minum tisane dari
fleur de Laurier untuk semua dia peduli.

Namun demikian, anak-anak tampaknya memiliki itu semua jalan mereka sendiri hari itu, dan organ-
penggiling yang dilepaskan. Madame tua, di sudut pensiunan nya, bisa mendengar jeritan, tawa dan
musik jauh lebih jelas daripada dia suka. Dia mengguncang dirinya ribut, dan bersenandung "Partant
pour la Syrie."

Dia lurus dan ramping. Rambutnya putih, dan dia memakainya di puff di kuil-kuil. Kulitnya adil dan
matanya biru dan dingin.

Tiba-tiba dia menyadari bahwa jejak mendekati, dan mengancam untuk menyerang privasinya -
tidak hanya langkah kaki, tapi jeritan! Kemudian dua anak-anak kecil, satu dalam mengejar yang lain,
melesat liar di sudut dekat yang ia Sab

Anak di muka, seorang gadis kecil yang cantik, melompat gembira ke pangkuan Madame Carambeau
itu, dan melemparkan lengannya tegang di leher wanita tua itu. Temannya ringan memukul dia "tag
terakhir," dan berlari tertawa gembira pergi.
Hal yang wajar yang paling untuk anak yang harus dilakukan kemudian akan menggeliat turun dari
pangkuan madame, tanpa "terima kasih" atau "dengan izin Anda," menurut cara anak-anak kecil dan
dipikirkan. Tapi dia tidak melakukan hal ini. Dia tinggal di sana, terengah-engah dan berkibar, seperti
burung ketakutan.

Madame sangat jengkel. Dia pindah seolah-olah menempatkan anak darinya, dan memarahinya
tajam karena riuh dan kasar. Si kecil, yang tidak mengerti bahasa Prancis, tidak terganggu oleh
teguran, dan tinggal di dalam pangkuan madame itu. Dia beristirahat pipi sedikit montok, yang panas
dan memerah, terhadap linen putih lembut gaun wanita tua itu.

Pipinya sangat panas dan sangat memerah. Itu kering, juga, dan begitu pula tangannya. Pernafasan
anak cepat dan tidak teratur. Madame tidak lama dalam mendeteksi tanda-tanda gangguan.

Meskipun ia adalah makhluk prasangka, dia tetap seorang perawat terampil dan cakap, dan seorang
ahli dalam segala hal yang berkaitan dengan kesehatan. Dia membanggakan dirinya atas bakat ini,
dan tidak pernah kehilangan kesempatan untuk berolahraga itu. Dia akan memperlakukan organ-
penggiling dengan pertimbangan lembut jika salah satu telah memperkenalkan dirinya dalam
karakter yang tidak valid.

Cara Madame terhadap si kecil segera berubah. Lengannya dan pangkuannya yang sekaligus
disesuaikan sehingga menjadi yang paling nyaman dari tempat istirahat. Dia bergoyang sangat
lembut ke sana kemari. Dia mengipasi anak lembut dengan kipas daun palem, dan menyanyikan
"Partant pour la Syrie" dengan nada rendah dan menyenangkan.

Anak itu puas untuk tetap berbaring dan mengoceh sedikit dalam bahasa yang madame pikir
mengerikan. Namun mata cokelat segera berenang di mengantuk, dan tubuh kecil tumbuh berat
dengan tidur di gesper madame itu.

Ketika gadis kecil tidur Madame Carambeau muncul, dan menginjak hati-hati dan sengaja, memasuki
kamarnya, yang dibuka dekat di tangan pada galeri. Ruangan itu besar, sejuk dan mengundang,
dengan anyaman yang sejuk di atas lantai, dan berat, lama, furniture mahoni dipoles. Madame,
dengan anak masih dalam pelukannya, menarik lonceng-kabel; kemudian dia berdiri menunggu,
bergoyang lembut bolak-balik. Saat seorang wanita kulit hitam tua menjawab panggilan. Dia
mengenakan hoops emas di telinganya, dan bandana terang tersimpul fantastis di kepalanya.

"Louise, mengecilkan tempat tidur," perintah madame. "Tempat yang kecil, bantal lembut di bawah
guling. Berikut adalah sedikit makhluk malang malang yang Providence harus didorong ke dalam
pelukanku." Dia meletakkan anak dengan hati-hati ke bawah.

"Ah, orang-orang Amerika! Apakah mereka layak untuk memiliki anak? Memahami sesedikit yang
mereka lakukan bagaimana mengurus mereka!" kata Madame, sementara Louise bergumam sebuah
persetujuan terlampir yang akan dimengerti untuk salah satu kenal dengan logat negro.

"Di sana, Anda lihat, Louise, dia terbakar," kata madame; "Dia dikonsumsi. Membuka korset kecil
sementara aku mengangkatnya. Ah, berbicara dengan saya orang tua seperti itu! Jadi bodoh untuk
tidak melihat demam seperti itu datang, tapi mereka harus berpakaian anak mereka seperti monyet
untuk pergi bermain dan menari dengan musik penggiling organ.

"Apakah tidak lebih baik akal, Louise, daripada melepas sepatu anak seolah-olah Anda menghapus
boot dari kaki seorang perwira kavaleri?" Madame akan diperlukan jari peri untuk melayani orang
sakit. "Sekarang pergi ke Mamzelle Cécile, dan katakan padanya untuk mengirim saya salah satu dari
mereka yang lama, lembut, baju tidur tipis yang Gustave mengenakan dua musim panas lalu."

Ketika wanita itu pensiun, madame menyibukkan diri dengan meracik kendi pendingin air jeruk-
bunga, dan pencampuran pasokan segar eau obat penenang dengan yang setuju untuk spons valid
kecil.

Madame Lalonde datang dirinya dengan yang lama, baju tidur yang lembut. Dia adalah seorang,
pirang, wanita gemuk sedikit cantik, dengan udara deprecatory satu yang akan menjadi lembek dari
ingin digunakan. Dia agak tertekan apa ibunya yang telah dilakukan.

"Tapi, Mama! Tapi, Mama, orang tua anak akan mengirim kereta untuknya dalam beberapa saat.
Benar-benar, tidak ada gunanya. Oh dear! Oh dear!"

Jika tiang ranjang telah berbicara dengan Madame Carambeau, dia akan membayar lebih banyak
perhatian, untuk pidato dari sumber tersebut akan menjadi setidaknya mengejutkan jika tidak
meyakinkan. Madame Lalonde tidak memiliki fakultas baik mengejutkan atau meyakinkan ibunya.

"Ya, si kecil akan cukup nyaman dalam hal ini," kata wanita tua, mengambil pakaian dari tangan
ragu-ragu putrinya.

"! Tapi, Mama Apa yang harus saya katakan, apa yang saya lakukan ketika mereka akan mengirim
Oh, sayang,? Oh, sayang!"

"Itu adalah bisnis Anda," jawab Madame, dengan ketidakpedulian tinggi. "Keprihatinan saya adalah
semata-mata dengan anak yang sakit yang kebetulan di dalam rumahku. Saya pikir saya tahu tugas
saya saat ini hidup, Cécile."

Sebagai Madame Lalonde diprediksi, kereta segera datang, dengan kusir Inggris kaku mengemudi
itu, dan Irlandia perawat pembantu merah diperiksa duduk di dalam. Madame bahkan tidak akan
mengizinkan pembantu untuk melihat biaya kecilnya. Dia punya teori bahwa suara Irlandia
menyedihkan bagi orang sakit.

Madame Lalonde mengirim gadis pergi dengan surat panjang penjelasan yang pasti puas orang tua;
untuk anak dibiarkan tidak terganggu dalam perawatan Madame Carambeau itu. Dia adalah seorang
anak yang manis, lembut dan penuh kasih sayang. Dan, meskipun dia menangis dan cemas sedikit
sepanjang malam untuk ibunya, ia tampak, setelah semua, untuk mengambil baik untuk
keperawatan lembut madame itu. Itu tidak banyak demam yang menimpa dirinya, dan setelah dua
hari dia cukup sehat untuk dikirim kembali ke orangtuanya.
Madame, dalam semua pengalaman bervariasi dia dengan sakit, belum pernah merawat begitu
keberatan karakter sebagai anak Amerika. Tapi masalahnya adalah bahwa setelah si kecil pergi, dia
bisa memikirkan apa-apa yang benar-benar pantas terhadap dirinya kecuali kecelakaan
kelahirannya, yang, setelah semua, kemalangan nya; dan ketidaktahuan nya bahasa Perancis, yang
bukan salahnya.

Tapi sentuhan lengan membelai bayi; tekanan dari tubuh sedikit lembut di malam hari; nada suara,
dan perasaan bibir panas ketika anak menciumnya, percaya dirinya bersama ibunya, adalah
tayangan yang tenggelam melalui kerak prasangka madame dan mencapai hatinya.

Dia sering berjalan panjang galeri, melihat keluar di lebar, sungai megah. Kadang-kadang ia
menginjak labirin kebunnya di mana kesendirian hampir bahwa dari hutan tropis. Itu saat-saat
sehingga benih mulai bekerja dalam jiwanya - benih ditanam oleh tangan yang tidak bersalah dan
undesigning dari seorang anak kecil.

Menembak pertama yang diutus itu Doubt. Madame dipetik itu pergi sekali atau dua kali. Tapi itu
tumbuh lagi, dan dengan itu Ketidakpercayaan dan Ketidakpuasan. Kemudian dari jantung benih,
dan di tengah tunas Keraguan dan misgiving, datang bunga Kebenaran. Itu adalah bunga yang sangat
indah, dan itu mekar pada pagi hari Natal.

Sebagai Madame Carambeau dan putrinya yang akan memasuki kereta nya pada pagi Natal, yang
akan didorong ke gereja, wanita tua berhenti untuk memberikan perintah untuk kusir hitamnya,
François. François telah mengemudi wanita ini setiap Minggu pagi ke Katedral Perancis selama
bertahun-tahun - ia lupa persis berapa banyak, tapi sejak ia memasuki layanan mereka, ketika
Madame Lalonde adalah seorang gadis kecil. Keheranannya karena itu dapat dibayangkan ketika
Madame Carambeau berkata kepadanya:

"François,-hari Anda akan mendorong kita untuk salah satu gereja Amerika."

"Plait-il, madame?" negro yang terbata-bata, meragukan bukti pendengarannya.

"Saya katakan, Anda akan mendorong kita untuk salah satu gereja Amerika. Salah satu dari mereka,"
tambahnya, dengan sapuan tangannya. "Saya kira mereka semua sama," dan ia mengikuti putrinya
ke dalam kereta.

Kejutan Madame Lalonde dan agitasi yang menyakitkan untuk melihat, dan mereka kehilangan nya
kemampuan untuk mempertanyakan, bahkan jika ia memiliki keberanian untuk melakukannya.

François, kiri ke mewah nya, mengantar mereka ke Gereja St Patrick di Camp jalan. Madame Lalonde
tampak dan merasa seperti ikan pepatah dari elemen sebagai mereka memasuki bangunan tersebut.
Madame Carambeau, sebaliknya, tampak seolah-olah dia telah menghadiri gereja St. Patrick
sepanjang hidupnya. Dia duduk dengan tenang tenang melalui layanan yang panjang dan melalui
khotbah Inggris yang panjang, yang ia tidak mengerti sepatah kata pun.

Ketika massa sudah berakhir dan mereka akan memasuki gerbong lagi, Madame Carambeau
berbalik, seperti yang dia lakukan sebelumnya, untuk kusir.

"François," katanya, dingin, "Anda akan sekarang mendorong kita ke kediaman anak saya, M. Henri
Carambeau. Tidak diragukan lagi Mamzelle Cécile dapat memberitahu Anda di mana itu,"
tambahnya, dengan pandangan tajam menembus yang menyebabkan Madame Lalonde meringis.

Ya, putrinya Cécile tahu, dan begitu pula François, dalam hal ini. Mereka mengusir St Charles jalan -
sangat jauh. Itu seperti sebuah kota aneh untuk madame tua, yang tidak berada di kuartal Amerika
karena kota itu diambil pada pertumbuhan baru dan indah ini.

Pagi itu satu lezat, lembut dan ringan; dan mawar semua mekar. Mereka tidak tersembunyi di balik
pagar berduri. Madame tampaknya tidak melihat mereka, atau tempat tinggal yang indah dan
mencolok yang berjajar di sepanjang jalan yang mereka melaju. Dia memegang botol berbau-garam
ke hidungnya, seolah-olah dia sedang melewati paling buruk bukan kuartal yang paling indah dari
New Orleans.

Rumah Henri adalah salah satu yang sangat modern dan sangat tampan, berdiri agak jauh dari jalan.
Sebuah terawat rumput, bertatahkan dengan tanaman langka dan menawan, mengelilinginya.
Wanita, turun dari, membunyikan bel, dan berdiri di atas bangku, menunggu pintu gerbang besi
yang akan dibuka.

Pelayan-pelayan putih mengakui mereka. Tampaknya Madame tidak keberatan. Dia menyerahkan
kartu dengan semua upacara yang tepat, dan diikuti dengan putrinya ke rumah.

Tidak sekali pun dia menunjukkan tanda kelemahan; bahkan ketika anaknya, Henri, datang dan
membawanya ke dalam pelukannya dan menangis dan menangis pada lehernya sebagai hanya
Creole ramah tamah bisa. Dia adalah seorang besar, tampan, jujur berwajah manusia, dengan mata
cokelat lembut seperti nya mati ayah dan mulut perusahaan seperti ibunya.

Muda Ibu Carambeau datang juga, manis, wajah segar nya berubah rupa dengan kebahagiaan. Dia
dipimpin oleh tangan putri kecilnya, "anak Amerika" yang madame telah dirawat begitu lembut
bulan sebelumnya, tidak pernah mencurigai si kecil untuk menjadi selain alien padanya.

"Apa kesempatan beruntung adalah demam itu! Apa kecelakaan bahagia!" berdeguk Madame
Lalonde.

"Cécile, itu bukan kebetulan, saya memberitahu Anda, itu adalah Providence," berbicara madame,
menegur, dan tidak ada yang bertentangan nya.

Kemudian mereka semua kembali bersama-sama untuk makan malam Natal di rumah tua di tepi
sungai. Madame diadakan cucu kecilnya pada pangkuannya; anaknya Henri duduk menghadap
dirinya, dan di sampingnya adalah putri-mertuanya.

Henri duduk kembali kereta dan tidak bisa berbicara. Jiwanya dirasuki oleh sukacita menyedihkan
yang tidak akan mengakui berbicara. Dia akan kembali lagi ke rumah di mana ia dilahirkan, setelah
pembuangan sepuluh tahun yang panjang.

Dia akan mendengar lagi mengalahkan air terhadap tanggul-bank yang hijau dengan suara yang tidak
cukup seperti yang lain bahwa ia bisa mengingat. Dia akan duduk dalam bayangan manis dan serius
dari atap dalam dan menggantung; dan menjelajah melalui liar, kesendirian kaya taman tua, di mana
ia bermain pranks nya masa kanak-kanak dan memimpikan mimpi-mimpinya pemuda. Dia akan
mendengarkan suara ibunya memanggilnya, "fils mon," seperti yang selalu dilakukan sebelum hari
itu ia harus memilih antara ibu dan istri. Tak Ada; dia tidak bisa berbicara.

Tapi istrinya mengobrol banyak dan ramah - di Perancis, namun, yang harus telah mencoba untuk
madame tua untuk mendengarkan.

"Saya sangat menyesal, ma mère," katanya, "bahwa kami sedikit satu tidak berbicara bahasa
Perancis. Ini bukan kesalahan saya, saya jamin," dan dia memerah dan ragu-ragu sedikit. "Itu - itu
Henri yang tidak akan mengizinkannya."

"Itu tidak ada," jawab Madame, dengan ramah, menggambar anak dekat dengannya. "Neneknya
akan mengajarkan bahasa Prancis, dan dia akan mengajarkan neneknya bahasa Inggris Anda lihat,
saya tidak punya prasangka saya tidak seperti anak saya Henri selalu anak keras kepala Surga hanya
tahu bagaimana ia datang karakter seperti itu....!"