Part 10

"So much the better; then I shall not have to go upon the road."

Jacques saw plainly that he should gain nothing by these proceedings; besides, he had business to attend to; his comrades were waiting for him at the public-house.

Françou, seeing him take his bag, as he was accustomed to do when he went on long excursions, concluded that he would not return that evening, and felt somewhat more tranquil. That day, and the following one, she lived on the food given her by the good people of the village, who heaped maledictions upon Jacques for having thus left her to die of hunger: but, on the evening of the second day, she saw him returning in the distance, and was greatly frightened, for she remembered the terrible beating she had received on the night before the last.

It was then too late for her to go away, and besides she had not the courage to do so; neither could she apply to Madame Pallois, as that lady had accompanied her brother to a neighbouring village. At length she thought of the plan which had so often procured her a good reception from Catichou. She entered the kitchen of Madame Pallois, saw there a fowl which had just been killed for the next day's dinner, and took it away unperceived. The servant, who returned a short time after, thought that the cat must have stolen it. Françou made her escape trembling; besides she felt grieved to take anything from Madame Pallois, who was so good to her, and whom she had always heard called throughout the whole of the village the mother of the poor. But children always imagine that those who are a little better off than themselves, cannot want for anything, and she did not think she was doing her much harm; besides, she was so terribly afraid of being beaten. As it happened, she was not beaten on this occasion; on the contrary, Jacques received her tolerably well, and Françou perceiving that this was the means of securing her peace, became confirmed in this shocking habit. But as it was not so easy to satisfy Jacques as Catichou, she began to take things of more importance.

At length suspicions were excited in the village, although Françou was not exactly accused as yet; but she would soon have been discovered, expelled with Jacques, and thus ruined for life, had it not been for an occurrence which took place at this time.

Madame Pallois, wishing to keep her as much as possible out of Jacques's company, made her come to her to learn to read; and Françou, delighted at the prospect of knowing something of which others were ignorant, felt very grateful: therefore it rarely happened that she took anything from Madame Pallois. Besides, she was very fond of Babet, the servant, who told her that she had been scolded for having let the cat eat the fowl; so that she would have been sorry to have got her again into disgrace.

One day, when she was nine years old, she entered the house without being observed. It was not her intention to steal in, but still she had not been seen. In this manner she went as far as Madame Pallois's room. No one was there. She saw half a crown lying on the mantelpiece; she looked at it: Jacques on the previous evening had brought home a shilling, which had dropped from the pocket of a person who was walking before him, and he had greatly exulted in his good fortune. The present coin was much larger than the one Jacques had picked up. How pleased he would be to have it! As he no longer beat her, she began to like him rather more than formerly.

She no longer thought either of Babet or of Madame Pallois, but solely of the pleasure which Jacques would feel. She turned the piece over and over: she blushed: she had never as yet taken money, and she thought that it was much worse to take it than anything else. Besides, the evening before, she had seen a woman led to prison for having committed a theft, and her dreadfully dejected appearance had very much excited her compassion. She thought of the circumstance at this moment, and was on the point of replacing the money; but while still holding it, she fancied she heard a noise, and grasping it tightly in her hand, she ran out. No sooner was she outside, than, regretting more than ever what she had done, she was on the point of returning to try to replace the money on the mantelpiece without being seen; but at this moment she beheld Madame Pallois enter the house, and she hid herself, in great trepidation. There was no longer any chance of replacing it.

When Madame Pallois had disappeared, Françou came out of her hiding-place, and walked slowly away. She no longer thought of giving the money to Jacques, her only concern was to find the means of returning to the house when Madame Pallois was out, and replacing the money unperceived. While still retaining it tightly in her hand, she met Jacques, who gave her a faggot to carry home. In taking hold of it she dropped the money; Jacques picked it up. "Ah! ah!" said he, "where did you get this?" and without waiting for a reply he carried it off. Françou did not dare to run after him, she did not dare to cry out, for she would be asked how the money came into her possession. She only sat down on her faggot and wept bitterly. At that moment she would have given the world not to have committed so disgraceful an action. Just then the Curé passed by; she quickly wiped away her tears, and without perceiving that she had been crying he told her to go and fetch his cane, which he had left at home.

The idea of seeing Madame Pallois, whom she knew to be at the time in the house, made her tremble from head to foot. Nevertheless, she must obey, for the Curé was waiting. At first she walked very slowly; he called to her to make more haste: she took her resolution and rushed into the house. There she found Madame Pallois greatly excited, and the servant in tears. "You may say what you please, Babet," said Madame Pallois, in a tone of severity, "you are the only person who can have entered this room during my absence, and I am quite certain that this half-crown was on the mantelpiece when I went out."

The servant again protested her innocence. "Be silent," continued Madame Pallois; "for some time past I have perceived several things missing; I give you till to-morrow to leave the house; but until then I shall so carefully watch your proceedings, that you need not hope to profit by the time you still remain."

The unfortunate girl sobbed violently; and struck her head with both her hands. Françou wept also, but she had not the courage to declare what she had done. At length she threw herself on her knees, and entreated pardon for Babet. Madame Pallois herself, softened by the despair of the poor girl, turned towards her.

"Babet," she said, in an agitated voice, "perhaps want has led you to commit this crime; if so, I will forgive you, provided you confess all."

Babet again loudly protested her innocence.

"Leave the house," said her mistress angrily. Babet fell on her knees in the middle of the room. "See, Françou," continued Madame Pallois, "to what a condition crime reduces us." Françou hid her face in her apron; she was on the point of avowing her fault; but she looked at Madame Pallois, and her tongue seemed frozen in her mouth.

"See what mischief you have done," continued Madame Pallois, addressing Babet with an air of deep concern, while her eyes filled with tears. "This was the last half-crown which I had at my disposal at the present moment, and I had promised it to poor Bernard, in order that he might call a doctor to his dying wife."

"It is not I," cried Babet once more; but Madame Pallois would not listen to her. Babet wrung her hands, and Françou rushed out of the house in search of Jacques. He was not at home; she ran to the tavern, and reached it half-suffocated with grief and the rapidity of her course.

"Oh," cried she, clasping her hands, "give me back the half-crown that you took away from me!" Jacques, already intoxicated, got up in a fury, and gave her a kick that threw her on the ground.

"Give it me back! give it me back!" she exclaimed, with outstretched arms, and without rising from the ground.

Jacques was again on the point of striking her, but she was taken away from him, put out of the house, and the door closed against her. She threw herself on her knees before the door, and entreated them to open it: but no one attended to her. At last, she sat down on a bench to wait until Jacques came out; but her eyes were heavy with weeping, and she fell asleep. Hearing no one in the tavern, she returned home. Jacques had come back, but he was plunged into the heavy sleep of intoxication, and it was impossible to rouse him. Françou then went to the Curé's house; everything was quiet there. "Oh," she said, "perhaps they have pardoned Babet." She returned, lay down on her bed, and passed the night in alternate hopes and fears. The day dawned, and Jacques awoke. Françou again asked for the money, sometimes angrily, sometimes in tones of supplication.

"The money!" said Jacques, with a stupified look, for he was not yet sober; "Ah!" he continued with an oath, "it is all gone: not a sous left!"

Françou arose; she had formed a project during the night. She gathered together the few rags which still remained to her from what old Catichou had left, made a bundle of them, and taking also a little silver cross given to her by Madame Pallois, she bent her steps towards the Curé's house. Babet was in the yard leaning against the wall; she approached her. "Babet," said she, "has Madame Pallois forgiven you?"

"No," replied Babet gloomily.

"Well," continued Françou timidly, at the same time offering her bundle, and taking from her neck the little silver cross; "give her these, perhaps they will be worth as much."

"Oh! they are not worth half as much," said Babet sighing; "and besides, what good would it do me? My character is lost, and Bernard will think that I have caused the death of his wife."

Françou sat down in dismay.

"Go and see Madame Pallois," said Babet: "go," she continued impatiently, as if eager to get rid of her, and as the child arose to depart she added with much emotion--

"Good bye, Françou, will you kiss me?"

Françou seemed afraid to approach.

"Oh!" said Babet sorrowfully, "I see that you too will not kiss me." She turned her head and wept, for she believed that Françou also took her for a thief, and did not wish to kiss her.

"Oh! yes, yes," said Françou, as she threw herself into Babet's arms, who embraced her tenderly, and then said in a stifled voice:

"Go, Françou, go to Madame Pallois, she is waiting for you."

Françou walked slowly away, uncertain what to do. On reaching the door of Madame Pallois's room, her courage failed her, and instead of entering she ran out towards the yard. There she beheld Babet standing on the brink of the well, looking down as if intending to throw herself into it. She rushed forward, uttering a piercing shriek; Babet turned her head, and Françou had just time to seize hold of her.

"Oh! it is I!" she cried, falling on her knees and holding Babet by the skirts with all her strength. While Babet tried to disengage herself, Madame Pallois came up.

"Oh!" exclaimed Françou, sinking on the ground, "don't let her throw herself into the well! It was I took the money."

Babet and Madame Pallois stood motionless with astonishment. Françou still continued prostrate on the ground, sobbing violently. Babet raised her up, though she herself could scarcely stand.

Madame Pallois made her sit down; then, turning to Françou, "Are you quite sure that what you say is true, Françou?" she asked, somewhat sternly.

"Ask my father," said Françou, hiding her face against the wall.

"And what have you done with it?"

"My father took it from me," she replied, sobbing. "I begged him to give it back to me, but he has spent it. I brought all this to give you instead, but Babet says it is worth nothing." At these words her sobs were redoubled.

"Babet," continued Madame Pallois, turning towards the poor girl, who, unable to support her joy, was leaning against the wall, breathing with difficulty: "can you forgive me, for accusing you of so disgraceful an act? Will you permit me to kiss you?"

Babet seized the hand of her mistress, then ran to Françou, who had again fallen on the ground, and presented her to Madame Pallois, begging her to forgive her.

"No! no!" exclaimed Françoise; "poor Bernard!"

"Françou," said Madame Pallois, "I am going to Bernard's cottage. You must come with me."

"Oh! no, no," cried Françou, "I would rather die first."

"I insist upon it, Françou; come, dry your eyes, and follow me."

Françou dared not resist. Madame Pallois took her by the hand, and was compelled to support her at every instant. At last they arrived. Bernard came to the door.

"Madame," said he in a tone of the deepest affliction, "you must permit me to fetch the doctor in the course of the morning; my wife is in despair, and thinks that he alone can save her."

"Let us go in," said Madame Pallois. At this moment she dropped the hand of Françou, who immediately made her escape, and ran off with all her might. By the time she reached the gate of the village, her mind was made up. The physician's house was situated only a short distance from Cavignat. Françou knew it; she ran there as fast as her strength would permit, and soon reached it.

"Oh," she cried to the physician, sobbing, "come and relieve poor Bernard's wife; Madame Pallois had only one half-crown to pay for your visit, and I took it. If you do not come, she will die. Do, pray, come;" she continued, clasping her hands, and dragging him by his dressing-gown. Greatly astonished, and affected by the condition in which he saw her, the physician interrogated her, and she related what had occurred, with every sign of the deepest despair. He consoled her, and promised to go and see the wife of poor Bernard without making any charge for his visit. Transported with joy, Françou wanted him to set off in his dressing-gown and nightcap, but he represented to her that he should be able to go much quicker in his gig, and that he could dress himself while the horse was harnessed. He had great difficulty in making her listen to reason, but at last the horse was put to, and the gig drove off.

They arrived, and entered the house. Françou kept behind the physician, not daring to come forward, and as the attention of every one was fixed on the patient, who was in a state of great suffering, Françou remained for a time unnoticed. When the invalid was a little more tranquil, and the physician had given his advice, Madame Pallois asked him how it happened that he had arrived so quickly, and why Bernard had not returned with him.

"I have not seen Bernard," said the doctor. "I was called by this little angel," he added, turning to Françou, on whom Madame Pallois had just cast a stern look. He then related what had taken place. Madame Pallois reflected for a moment; then, calling Françou, "Promise me," she said, "that this shall be the last time, and I will forgive you." Françou promised, and she kept her word. Besides, she was no longer subjected to the same temptations. The knaveries of Jacques were discovered, and he was obliged to fly from the village for fear of being arrested as a smuggler. It was also ascertained that Françou was not his daughter; he had said so while intoxicated, and Françou, on being questioned, confirmed the statement.

The physician asked to take her into his service, to milk the cow and attend to the fowls. As he was a very excellent and strictly honest man, and treated her well, she had nothing but good examples before her. His wife instructed her in her religious duties, and she regularly attended the catechism of M. le Curé, at Cavignat, and when she had reflected more on what she had done, she could not look Babet in the face without blushing; especially as Babet had told her that she had bitterly repented of her wish to throw herself into the well, which was a thing so strictly forbidden, and for which M. le Curé had great difficulty in giving her absolution.

"Poor Babet!" said Mélanie, with a heavy sigh, for she had scarcely breathed during the termination of the story.

"Poor Françou!" said Eugène, "she would certainly have died of grief if Babet had thrown herself into the well."

"My children," said Madame d'Inville, "thank God for having given you good parents, and remember, Mélanie, when they take so much pains to give you good habits, how unreasonable it is not to pay attention to them, or to say when you are told to do anything, '_I don't want to do this_,' or '_I won't do that_.'"

At this moment, Mélanie saw a poor man passing with a little girl. "Oh! dear grandmamma," said she, "that is just like the story of Jacques. I am sure that little girl is not his daughter."

"And why not, my child?"

"Oh! see, he has such a bad look."

"Because you fancy so, because he is in rags, and appears to be ill. Look at me, Mélanie; just imagine, if I were covered with rags, and had been laid up with fever for a week, do you think I should look very well?"

"Oh! dear grandmamma!"

"He is old; I too am old; and whereas I take my granddaughter out to walk for her pleasure, he, on the contrary, takes his out to beg for her bread."

"Do you think so, grandmamma?"

"It is at least possible, my dear; and as we know nothing to the contrary, we have no right to regard as dishonest a man who may be quite the reverse, and who has so much need of our good opinion."

Mélanie carried to the poor man a sou which Madame d'Inville had given her, and, touched by her grandmamma's words, she added another from her own store.

M. LE CHEVALIER.

"Stop them! Stop them!" was re-echoed through the Rue St. Honoré. "Madame la Marquise is running down the street! This way! Madame la Vicomtesse is dragging her dress through the mud! Oh! M. le Baron has lost his wig! and M. le Chevalier?... William, where is M. le Chevalier?"

And William ran right and left, endeavouring to bring back a number of dressed-up dogs, such as are seen parading the streets, in little carriages. They had just escaped from their kennel, while their owners were occupied with their morning toilet. This toilet was a tedious and difficult affair, for whilst they were washing one, the one which had just gone through the operation, never failed to go and put his paws into the gutter. While M. le Baron was made to stand on his hind feet, in order to have his fore paws put through the sleeves of his coat, Madame la Marquise, seizing the first opportunity to make use of her legs, set off running all round the yard, in her petticoat, which being then much too long, and getting entangled between her legs, threw her down; and whilst they ran after her, all the others would make their escape, half-dressed in their finery. On the present occasion, the gate of the yard happened accidentally to be opened, while one of these scenes was enacted, and all the dogs made their escape into the street, troubling themselves very little as to the state in which they appeared before the eyes of the public.

However, William, the owner's son, had succeeded in catching almost all of them, and, saving the loss of M. le Baron's wig, and the unfortunate accident which had happened to the hat and feathers of Madame la Vicomtesse, when she rolled in a heap of rubbish, and the rent which Madame la Marquise had made in her blue petticoat, all would have been set to rights, if M. le Chevalier could have been found. M. le Chevalier was a very important personage. He was the only one who was able to waltz with Madame la Présidente. Everybody was delighted to see them take each other by the neck, with their fore paws, and dance in time on their hind feet. Now, Madame la Présidente could not waltz all alone; thus two talents were lost at the same time. The owner was in despair; he was to go that day to Clichi, to the fair of St. Médard, and he built his chief hopes of success upon the waltz. But it was in vain that William went to every house in the neighbourhood, asking whether any one had seen M. le Chevalier. "And who is M. le Chevalier?" he was everywhere asked; and William replied, "He has a yellow waistcoat, no trousers, pointed ears, a sword at his side, and his tail is bald at the end." Notwithstanding this luminous description, no one could give him any information respecting M. le Chevalier. At length, as it was growing late, the master decided on setting off with the rest of his troop, telling William to follow him with M. le Chevalier, if he succeeded in finding him.

William had a second time searched all the streets in the vicinity, and was returning home sorrowfully, when he met one of his neighbours coming from market. He asked her, as he had done every one else, whether she could give him any information about M. le Chevalier.

"Bah!" said she, "has he not returned? This morning, when your dogs ran away, I was just going to market, and I saw him enter the alley opposite, and go into M. Bucquet's, the linendraper. Has he really not come back, then? Oh, I'll wager that it is little Roussel who has kept him."