Leonie Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the alley.
    The tears pushed at her eyelids as she sat down beside him, refusing the enormous sandwich he offered, spilling out the story of Marianne’s attack.
    “Don’t cry, Léonie,” he said sympathetically, “she’s not worth it, she’s just jealous of you. I’ll bet that in all these years at Serrat no one has ever written her a note asking to take her out. Don’t let her make you cry, please!”
    “I’m crying because I’m so angry! It’s so unfair . I know the parcels were tied properly … and I never even looked at that man until he sent me the note … and it’s not just today, Maroc! She’s always picking on me. Oh, what shall I do? There’s no way to please her. I’m not pushing myself forward. I’m the one who should be jealous of her . If I had her job, I’d be the happiest woman in Paris.”
    “Would you? I wonder.” He offered her a twist of paper containing two melting chocolates. “Here, these are for you. They’re Madame Serrat’s best truffles from Tanrades. I thought they might cheer you up.”
    “Oh, Maroc, you are so sweet.” She leaned over and kissed him and he grinned at her happily.
    “Well, are you going to meet him?”
    She was shocked. “Of course not.”
    He threw the crumbs to the waiting pigeons. “I had to give you the note, but I hoped you wouldn’t go. Don’t waste yourself on men like that—they’re no good.” Their glances met, and she could see he was serious. “Life has a lot more to offer someone like you, Léonie, you’re different, special.”
    He sounded so wise, so grown up. “How do you know so much for a fourteen-year-old?”
    “I’ve lived on the streets all my life.” He shrugged. “I know about things … more than you do.”
    Her wrist hurt where Marianne had gripped it and she rubbed it thoughtfully, thinking about that young man—it was exciting that he had wanted to see her. Cheering up, she began to eat Maroc’s sandwich. “I’m going to try to keep out of her way in the future, and I’ll tie my hair even tighter. I’ll even chop it off if it means keeping my job.”
    “Please don’t cut off your hair.” He put up his hand and touched it gently. “It’s wonderful … like a great tawny mane. I can’t imagine you without it.”
    She sighed as they walked down the passage, back toward the salon. “I won’t, Maroc—unless I have to.”
    Carolina Montalva swept into Serrat in search of white lace stockings, groaning as Marianne bustled forward with a pleased smile. “Oh, God,” she said to the young man with her, “it’s that old battle-ax. I’d hoped to avoid her.”
    “Mademoiselle Montalva.” Marianne smiled. “How nice to see you.”
    Carolina—Caro to her friends—waved her away with an arrogant hand. “No need to bother with me, Marianne, I’m only here for some stockings. I don’t need to take up your time chatting … this child will do, she can serve me.” She sat down on the chair in front of the counter and Léonie turned from the cabinet in surprise. “Me, madame?”
    “Yes, of course you. I’d like to see some white lace stockings.”
    Léonie glanced helplessly at Marianne, who glared back at her. Mademoiselle Montalva was one of their best customers; she always bought lavishly, ordering everything by the dozen and in every color. She nodded her head. “You know where to find them, Léonie. Please see that Mademoiselle Montalva has everything she wants.” She turned to Maroc. “A glass of champagne for mademoiselle, please, Maroc.” She retreated to her cubicle, watching from the doorway as Léonie brought out the tray of stockings and began to unfold them for her customer. “There are three different patterns of lace, madame.”
    Caro smiled at her. What an unexpected little beauty to find in Serrat! She glanced at Alphonse—as she had thought, he had noticed, too. “And which style do you think is the prettiest?” she asked.
    “ Me , madame?”
    Caro laughed. “Yes,