There had been a wondrous burst of music from
the great organ as she knelt there, an over-powering perfume of many
flowers, the glittering dazzle of many lights, and the dainty frou-frou
of silken skirts of wedding guests filing and tripping. So Miss Sophie
stayed to the wedding, for what feminine heart, be it ever so old and
seared, does not delight in one? And why shouldn't a poor little Creole
old maid be interested too?
When the wedding party had filed in solemnly, to the rolling, swelling,
pealing tones of the organ. Important-looking groomsmen, dainty, fluffy,
white-robed maids, stately, satin-robed, illusion-veiled bride, and
happy groom. She leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of their
faces. Ah!--
Those near the Virgin's altar who heard a faint sigh and rustle on the
steps glanced curiously as they saw a slight, black-robed figure clutch
the railing and lean her head against it. Miss Sophie had fainted.
"I must have been hungry," she mused over the charcoal fire in her
little room, "I must have been hungry," and she smiled a wan smile, and
busied herself getting her evening meal of coffee and bread and ham.
If one were given to pity, the first thought that would rush to one's
lips at sight of Miss Sophie would have been: Poor little Miss Sophie!
She had come among the bareness and sordidness of this neighborhood five
years ago, robed in crepe, and crying with great sobs that seemed to
fairly shake the vitality out of her.
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