Chapter One

French Lace and Fine Jewels

Little Therese sat on the floor at her mother's feet, watching the bright needle as it flew through the cloud of fine lace her mother was making. It was a winter day in the year 1875.

The room was warm and cozy, but outside it was snowing. Therese could see the big soft flakes falling against the window where her mother's chair had been drawn to catch the fading light. Therese was not yet three years old, but she noticed everything.

She was thinking now that the snowflakes outside looked like the lovely white lace growing under her mother's quick fingers. Later she would learn that her mother was the finest maker of lace in the city of Alencon - and that Alencon, France, was the place where the finest lace in all the world was made.

Crawling closer, she pulled herself up by her mother's skirts and toddled to the window. She put her small nose against the pane, wishing with all her heart that she could catch the snowflakes as they fell. Snow did not come often to Alencon, and when it did, it delighted the children.

"Come back, little one", said her mother. "Come back, and sit here with me. The window is cold. Soon your sisters will return, and Celine will play a fine game with you.

But little Therese stayed at the window, and her mother had to rise and carry the small girl back to the cushion at her feet. Therese did not mind, for really her favorite place was on the carpet of the cozy sitting room. It was such a lovely carpet with bright red and pink roses woven on it. Now she stretched down a tiny finger and began to trace the outline of one of the big red roses.

"Rose," she said and smiled up at her mother.

"Yes, dearest," replied her mother, bending to stroke the soft golden curls that crowned the small head. "It is a rose. And when sumemr comes, you will see many like it growing in the garden. Only they will be much lovelier, for they will have been made by the good God himself."

"The good God", repeated Therese. But she said it in French, which has a softer sound. "Le bon Dieu", she said.

Her mother was thinking how prettily she smiled and how large and blue were her eyes.

Just then they heard the outer door open, and the happy voices of Therese's older sisters filled the hall. They had been out for a romp in the snow. In they came, with faces glowing and eyes dancing. Throwing off their wet coats to dry near the stove, they all began talking at once in their rapid French. Their mother thought they sounded like a flock of young birds, chirping among the apple blossoms that bloomed every springtime against the old stone wall in the garden.

Marie, the oldest, with her big, brown eyes, was as tall as her mother. Because she was almost sixteen and helped greatly with the housekeeping, all the others looked up to her. Little Therese, the baby of the family, held up her arms to Marie for a hug and a kiss.

Therese had four sisters. After Marie came Pauline, who was fourteen, but she was away now at boarding school. Next came Leonie, who was twelve; and then Celine, who was six. With Therese, this made five children, four of whom were now gathered about their mother in the warm room.

When Marie had hugged the baby, she reached in her pocket, and to Therese's delight, gave her a small piece of chocolate. Then Marie put her arm about her mother's shoulder and bent down to look at the foam of white lace in her lap.

"It's beautiful, Mother!" exclaimed Marie. "The loveliest you ever made! And who is to be lucky enough to own it?"

"The countess de Montfort ordered it for her daughter's wedding dress. But you do not think the thread is too thin, do you, Marie?" she asked worriedly, bending her head to one side as she held the lace up to the light.

"It's perfect", said Marie. "The bride will look like an angel when she wears it."

But as Marie smiled down into her mother's face, she was troubled. It was a lovely face with its straight, slender nose and its large black eyes full of liveliness. But Marie could see now that her mother looked very tired. Once again she was working too hard.

"Why don't you put your work aside and take a little rest before Father comes home?" Marie asked.

"No, no, dear. I am not tired", replied her mother. "And I have only a little more to finish."

"Well then, there's no excuse for me not to be at work", said Marie gaily. "It's almost time for supper, and Louise will be looking for me in the kitchen." And off she flew.

Louise was the maid who took care of the Martin family. Soon Marie was busy helping her fix the evening meal.

Six-year-old Celine had dropped on the floor beside Therese, who was laughing happily as her sister pretended she was a little dog on all fours, barking and snapping at the chocolate. But the baby held on to it tightly. Everyone in the room was smiling except Leonie.

"Mother," she was saying. "I want to go away to boarding school, like Pauline."

"So you shall, dear, one day," answered her mother.

"But I want to go now," Leonie insisted.

"Why, you are only twelve, Leonie. Pauline, you know, is fourteen."

"But I'm tall for my age, and anyway, I'm tired of it around here."

"Hush, Leonie," said her mother. "You must not let your father hear you say such things. He would be very angry. And he will be home any moment now."

"Father, Father, Father - that's all I hear around this house!" And swooping up her coat, Leonie dashed angrily from the room.

Madame Martin sighed as she laid aside her needle. God had blessed her with five beautiful children. To be sure, had all her children lived, there would have been nine. Yet God was very good to have spared her the five. But why was it that, of these five, there was only one who gave her any trouble? Leonie, Leonie - she must try to help her overcome angry, unhappy moods. Perhaps the reason she was full of moods and hard to please was that she had been quite ill and had almost died when she was a little girl. Perhaps that was why she was not as happy as the others.

When Louis Martin came home, the onion soup was steaming from the heavy kettle that hung in the great open fireplace. Therese heard him at the front door, stamping the snow from hsi feet. Scrambling from her cushion, she toddled as fast as she could to meet him. Her handsoime father swung the child to his shoulder and rubbed his cold cheek against hers. She had her arms tight about his neck, and he went dancing into the sitting room, singing at the same time, "Make way for the Queen! Make way for the Queen!"

That was his special name for Therese; and when he was looking for her, he would always ask the others, "Where is my Little Queen?"

As for Therese, she was never happier than when in her father's arms.

"Leonie, Leonie," called her mother, "your father is home. It's time to prepare Celine and the baby for supper."

As Louis Martin set Therese down and took off his coat, Leonie came slowly down the stairs, thinking, "IF I were at boarding school, I would not have this tiresome task to do every evening." But almost at once she was ashamed of herself for this thought. And when she entered she even managed a smile for her father.

"That's my good Leonie", he said as he kissed her.

Then Leonie felt more ashamed of her bad temper and what it had made her say about him.

When they were alone, Madame Martin asked her husband, "Well, Louis dear, did you have any luck?"

"Yes, indeed, my dear Zelie", he exclaimed as he warmed his feet against the stove. "I showed some pieces of your lace to the head of the great firm of Laurent and Company - the largest in Paris. For the next year, he will buy all we can provide."

"Oh, Louis! How wonderful!" exclaimed Madame Martin. "You are truly very clever at business!"

"Nonsense", replied her husband. "It's only because you are such ana rtist and work so faithfully that the good God has helped us get this order. But now, my dear, you must hire more helpers so that you will be bale to make enough lace for our new customer."

The making of Madame Martin's beautiful lace was not simply. Women had to study and practice for years before they could make it. Madame Martin hired other women to stitch the patterns. But, she herself always did the hardest task; she wove the fine strips together.

"Yes, we shall need more help now that we have this large order. We must double the prayers to our Lady and ask her to keep on blessing the work."

"Do not fear. She never fails us," replied her husband. "It was the same when I had my jewelry shop. Ah, how often did our Lady help me!"

"Your charming shop - and the beautiful jewelry you made with your own hands! You are the artist, not I. Oh, Louis, how I hated to see you give up all that!"

"My dear, your lace brings me as much joy as the other work did. Besides, you were killing yourself with overwork. How could anyone take care of a business, a home, and five children besides? IT was high time that I gave up the shop and turned to helping such a hard-working wife."

Madame Martin smiled gratefully at her husband. "It still troubles me when I think how much you must miss those beautiful jewels."

"I have six beautiful jewels right here in my own home", said Louis Martin, jumping from his chair and lightly kissing her cheek. "And you are the most beautiful of all!"

"Ah, Louis, I shall become vain", laughed Zelie Martin. "Come, let us go to supper."

Therese, holding on to Leonie's hand, now came toddling in with a fresh blue ribbon, the color of her eyes, tied to her tiny curls. Marie was calling them all to supper. When they were seated about the table, her father praised the good onion soup, whose perfume filled the room, and the vegetables Marie and Louise had prepared.

Louise had come toh the Martin family form a French farm. She was almost as wide as she was short, but very strong and active. Now, as she served the meal, she joined in the suppertime talk as though she were one of the family. She laughed loudly at all Louis Martin's jokes, helped Madame Martin to feed Therese, who sat on a high chair at her mother's side, and even gave Celine a quick slap on the hand when she caught her eating too quickly.

When supper was over, Madame Martin herself carried the sleepy Therese up to the bedroom she shared with Celine. While all helped to take care of the baby during the day, it was her mother who always put her to bed at night. When she had undressed her, she said, "Now, dear, it is time to kneel down and say your prayers."

The little girl knelt at her mother's knee and folded her small hands. Already she could say the Hail Mary without any help and the Our Father with very little help. Now she turned her head toward the small statue of the Infant Jesus her mother had given her. She had a special prayer for him, which went like this: "Dear little Jesus, bless my mother and father, my sisters, Louise, and little Therese, Amen."

It always seemed to her that the Chidl Jesus was listening and promising her that he would bless everyone. The statue showed him dressed as a little king with a golden crown. It was a copy of the famous statue of the Infant of Prague, her mother explained. Therese loved it, for in one hand the Infant Jesus held out a ball. She liked to think that at any moment he would toss it to her, and she could toss it back to him, and they would laugh and play together. When she was a little older she was surprised to learn that what the Child Jesus held was not supposed to be a ball after all - but instead the big round world.

When Madame Martin had tucked Therese into bed and kissed her good-night, she blew out the candle and went downstairs to join the others. Celine was also on her way to bed. Then Louis Martin went to the high chest and drew out the checkerboard.

"Who would like a game" he asked.

But his wife said, "Wait a moment, Louis. First I want to read you the letter that came today from Pauline You will be happy to learn how well she is doing in the convent at Le Mans!"

"Good!" replied her husband, settling himself in his comfortable chair.

Zelie Martin took the letter from her pocket, handling it as though it were a treasure. Marie hung eagerly over her mother's shoulder to see every line of it for herself. But Leonie started to leave the room. Her father looked at her in surprise.

"Are you not staying to hear your sister's letter?" he asked.

Leonie stopped at the door and hunger her head, saying nothing.

"Well?" demanded her father sharply.

She looked up angrily. "No!" she snapped. "I'm going to the kitchen to see Louise."

Her father said sternly, "You will remain here until your mother has read the letter aloud. Sit down!"

Leonie sat. But something deep inside hurt. It was as though some small creature inside her were crying.

Her mother gave her a quick smile. Then she began to read from the letter.

"Dearest Mother and Father, I miss you so much. This year the convent seems lonely without Marie. But I look forward to the spring when I shall be with you all again for the holidays. Then you will see how I have grown and how well I shall be able to help Marie with the housekeeping! Is the baby as pretty as when I last saw her? Mother dear, I hope you are not working too hard. You and Father will be glad to hear that my marks were quite good last month. I came out next to the highest. But I can't wait until I see you again! Will you meet me at the station? Already I can imagine myself on the train. Please give my love to my sisters, and give the baby a special hug from me. I close with love and respect to you, my dear parents. Your Pauline.

"P.S. Aunt Elise sends her love and says to tell you that she is proud of me (for my marks). PRay that I shall do as well this month."

Autn Elise was Madame Martin's own sister, who was now a nun in the Visitation Convent at Le Mans, Pauline's school.

"You may go now, Leonie," said her father gravely, and without a word Leonie was off for the kitchen.

As she folded the letter, Zelie Martin smiled happily. "Isn't it wonderful, Louis, that our Pauline is doing so well?"

"Indeed, my dear, very wonderful." Then he added with a twinkle in his eye, "But after all, she should do well. Of all the children, she is the one who is most like her mother!"

"And who am I like?" asked Marie, as she settled herself at the checkerboard with her father.

He looked her up and down teasingly, pretending that he was unable to decide.

"Why, Marie!" exclaimed her mother. "Don't you know? You are just like your father. But you must try to be as good as he is. See how often he goes to church--"

"And fishing," added Marie with a twinkle.

Then they all laughed, and Louis Martin the loudest of all.

"Just for that, I will beat you at checkers, young lady", he said as he began to set out the pieces. His love for fishing was one of the family jokes.

The next day was Sunday, and all, even Therese, went to early Mass at the beautiful old Church of Notre Dame. It was amzing how wel Therese could walk all the way there. She was quick at learning things, thought her father - much quicker than any of the others had been at her age.

On Sundays when the weather was fine, the family would take a walk in the afternoon. These walks always ended again at the church for the evening service of Vespers. Therese loved the stained glass windows of Notre Dame. Their lovely colors were soft and glowing, and the light of the setting sun came through them, casting a rainbow of colors upon one side of the white marble altar. She delighted too in the flickering candles and the music that came from the great organ. She would sit very still, very happy, while the service lasted. Now more and more she looked forward to Sundays...

Some months later, in the early spring, the family set out as usual on their Sunday afternoon walk. Therese, dancing along at her father's side, was in her best blue dress and blue coat. Madame Martin looked at her daughters with pleasure. She was careful about their clothing, and this afternoon they did indeed look very pretty. It was a lovely sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. But they had not gone very far before a high wind arose. Suddenly dark clouds blew across the face of the sun.

"We shall have rain, I fear", said Louis Martin.

A few moments later it came - at first slowly, and then as the wind rose higher, in a great downpour. Luckily, they were near the home of louis Maritn's mother. They hastened to her door. She was delighted to see them, and she helped the children put their wet coats near the fire to dry. Then she started fixing cups of steaming hot chocolate.

Louis Martin stood at the window, drawing aside the lace curtin to gaze out at the weather. "The rian may end as quickly as it began, and I believe we shall be able to go on to Vespers, after all."

But her mother looked at Therese and was uneasy. It would be better not ot keep the little one out in such uncertain weather; much better to send her home. Once could not tell how the weather would be after Vepsers, and she did not wish to risk an illness. A sudden thought struck her that this would be a good way to show Leonie how much the family trusted her and that she was both needed and loved.

"Leonie dear," she said, "I don't want to keep the baby out in this weather. I would like you to take her home now. There is a break in the storm. Perhaps if you hurry you will get home before the next downpour."

A smile lit up Leonie's face. It was an errand of trust. Her mother had not asked Marie, as she usually did, but had asked her! She made up her mind to take every care to fulfill the trust perfectly. "Of course, Mother", she said.

But when Leonie tried to get Therese into her coat, the child cried loudly. She seemed to know that she was being taken home and not to her beloved church, Notre Dame. As Leonie tugged her through the wet streets, Therese kept hanging back and crying. They arrived at the house breathless, and Leonie was opening the door just as the second downpour burst upon them. The skies were now black; it was as dark as midnight. As Leonie pushed open the door, Louise came running out from the kitchen.

"Thak heaven, some has come! The kitchen window is stuck fast. I can't close it alone, and the rain is pouring in, all over everything! Come quickly!"

Not stopping to shut the door, Leonie ran to help her. It took quite a while to close the window. When Leonie got back to the hall, Therese was gone. She ran into the sitting room, looking for her. It was empty. Then she ran upstairs and looked in all the bedrooms. Therese was no Therese anywhere. She became very frightened. Running down the stairs, she called out to Louise, "The baby! She's gone!"

Then she noticed the open door and went cold with fright. With beating hearts, Louise and Leonie peered out into the darkness and the rain. But there was no sign of Therese. Only torrents and torrents of rain - and darkness. Leonie sat down ont he stairs and began to cry. "Oh, Louise, they trusted her to me, and I've lost her! We may never find her. Father will be very angry. He will - he may - he will never forgive me!"