Chapter IV.

"Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day. Yet see how all around them wait The ministers of human fate And black misfortune's baleful train."

Gray.

But Polycarpe Poquet did not drop the acquaintance so well begun; far from it; he seemed to have become really attached to the pale, weak child, who was about a year younger than himself, and proved his friendship by becoming a kind of amateur rag-picker and helping to fill the dreadful basket and leathern bag that Pelagie exacted twice a day. This business finished, he would lead off Marcel in quest of amusement, with the understood intention also of picking up a few sous as he best could, and Polycarpe was not at all particular.

All was new to Marcel; he had never yet had time to stroll through the great thoroughfares at the hours when the magnificent shops of Paris display their wonderful merchandise to tempt the luxurious rich. He had not even ever crossed the bridges since that fatal 26th of June, 1848, and knew nothing of beautiful Paris but the narrow and busy streets of the "Quartier Latin," the quarter of the great schools, of the College of France, the Sorbonne, and the Institute.

How wonder-stricken was he the day that Polycarpe conducted him to the Place de la Concorde! The sky was blue, the sun bright, the two beautiful fountains were spouting their many waters in feathery spray, the grand old chestnut-trees of the Tuileries gardens were in full bloom behind him, palaces on either side of him, and before him stretched away the magnificent avenue of the Champs Elysées, bordered by trees and flowers and grassy lawns, and bounded in the far distance by the Arch of Triumph! The boy's heart swelled within him, for the love of the beautiful was hidden in it, as well as the sense of the good and true, and he could not speak. He had never gazed before on so brilliant a scene, and he could find no words to express his feelings.

Polycarpe understood nothing of this silent admiration, and after loitering a short time around some of the _cafés_ among the trees in the avenue, proposed going down on the quay to look at the river. They stopped for a glass of brandy at the nearest _cabaret_--for Marcel had learnt this dreadful habit from his friend, who had been accustomed to tipple from his very birth--and then, ready for any mischief, descended to the river's side. An old lady was standing there, gazing at the swift-flowing water, as if she were longing to throw into it a very apoplectic-looking little dog she held by a string.

"Marcel, Marcel," whispered Polycarpe, "I'm going to have some fun with that old woman. I'll squeeze some sous out of her, you see if I don't!"

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He started off running as he spoke, then suddenly stopped close to the dog.

"What a love of a dog!" cried he in apparent ecstasy. "I never saw a prettier little animal in my life! What kind of a dog do you call that, madam?"

"It is a Scotch dog, my young friend," replied the old lady, evidently much flattered; "you have very good taste, for he is really a very pretty creature."

"He is a love!" ejaculated Polycarpe.

"I have brought him here for a bath," continued the old lady. "I think that it would do him good if he would swim a little."

"That it would, madam," answered Polycarpe, stroking and kissing the fat, wheezy little animal; "but it would be well to give him a little rubbing first; his skin is rather dirty, I perceive, madam, on looking close. I'll wash him for you, if you like. I'm used to washing dogs. I wash my mother's dog every Saturday, madam."

"Really!" said the old lady. "Well, I _should_ be glad to give Zozor a good washing, but I'm afraid he's difficult; he don't like it; he never did."

"That's nothing, madam. Julius Caesar--that's my mother's dog-- don't like it, but he's obliged to, for it's for his good. You should just see Julius Caesar when I've washed and dressed him! He's perfectly beautiful! He's a poodle, quite white, and I've cut his coat so that he has a flounce round each ankle, three rows of fringe on his hips, a fine bandelet on his side, a frill on his chest, and a magnificent tassel at the end of his tail."

"He must be very handsome," remarked the old lady, who had listened with much interest to this description.

"He is, madam. My mother says no one can dress a dog better than I can. So I'll wash Zozor, if you like; I'll not hurt him in the least."

"You're very kind, indeed," said the old lady. "I really shall be very much obliged to you. Now then, Zozor, don't be naughty; it will do you good, Zozor."

So saying, the trustful old lady undid the string attached to her pet's collar, and delivered the victim into the hypocrite's hands. In an instant the wretched little creature was smeared from head to tail with a villanous compound of black soap and soot that Polycarpe drew from one of his dirty pockets. The poor animal howled dismally as his tormentor daubed him all over, and more vehemently still when his eyes, nose, and mouth were crammed with the nasty, stinging mixture.

"Now, madam," said Polycarpe, when the poor beast was well plastered and utterly unrecognizable, "that's the first operation; and if you want me to go on, and wash it off, my charge is forty sous, paid in advance. I never give credit: it's a bad system; I've learnt that by experience."

"You wicked boy!" screamed the old lady, "you little impostor! you've killed my poor Zozor!"

The unlucky pet was rolling himself in the mud, in an agony of pain.

"You cruel, wicked boy! Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?"

"Why, you've only to pay me the forty sous," said Polycarpe, who stood calmly contemplating the contortions of his victim, "and I'll continue my operations. Forty sous is not dear, madam, especially as I provide the soap."

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The old lady, unable to endure any longer the sight of her darling's sufferings, at last drew from her purse a piece of forty sous, and put it into the outstretched palm of the young scamp, who no sooner had closed his dirty fingers on the coin than he burst into an insulting laugh and took to his heels, leaving Zozor's mistress inarticulate with astonishment and rage.

Marcel had stood a little distance off while this scene was enacting. At first he laughed; but when he saw how much the poor dog suffered, the innate humanity of his nature was awakened, and as soon as his friend had disappeared he approached the yelling animal, and, with much difficulty and no little danger of being bitten, managed to seize him by the nape of the neck and throw him into the water. The miserable animal struggled desperately, and so got rid of a great part of the soap and soot; with the help of a boatman who had come up just in time, Marcel got him out again, and, after a little rubbing and rinsing, restored him to his weeping mistress, clean, but with blood-shot eyes and inflamed nostrils, and certainly very much the worse for his adventure.

The poor lady was profuse in her thanks. "You have saved his life," she cried; "I shall be eternally grateful to you; I will never forget you!" And she pressed her dripping darling to her heart, while she hastily climbed the steep that led from the river's side to the quay above.

Marcel followed when she was out of sight, and soon perceived Polycarpe waiting for him, and half-hidden behind one of the kiosks on the sidewalk in which newspapers are sold in Paris.

"So you washed that old woman's little monster!" cried he, as soon as he saw Marcel. "You needn't have done that. Here I've been waiting for you to go to Mother Crapaud's for a real blow-out. Come along, now, I'm as hungry as a wolf. Did you ever see an old woman so nicely done? O my eye! poor Zozor! wasn't he well soaped?"