Part 2

"I made a mistake in leaving the cabriolet," thought Auguste. However, he continued to walk beside the girl, and said to her after a moment:

"Are you a milkmaid?"

"Pardi! anyone can see that. Have you just guessed it?"

"Will you sell me some milk?"

"I haven't got any."

"Do you carry it to Paris?"

"I don't go so far as that."

"Where do you come from?"

"You're very inquisitive."

The girl's tone was not encouraging, and Auguste looked along the road to see whether he could still see his cabriolet; but it had disappeared, for White Jean stopped very often to eat leaves or grass, despite the blows with the switch which his mistress bestowed on him.

"Do you know," said Auguste, "you are not very agreeable, my lovely child? You are so pretty that I thought you would be gentler, less savage."

"That's just it! monsieur thought he was going to turn my head with his flattery! But I'm used to meeting young men from Paris; it's always the same old song; they think they can make themselves welcome just by telling me I'm pretty! Oh! you're a parcel of flatterers! but I don't listen to you, you see!"

"I should like to hear anyone deny again that virtue has its home in the village!" said Auguste to himself. "It is clear enough to my mind that the country is the place where we find the pure morals of the ancient patriarch, the models of virtue celebrated by the poets, the--That devil of a Bertrand needn't have driven Bébelle so fast; he must have done it from pure mischief! And when I said that we were almost there I was lying. It's at least three-quarters of a league farther!"

To complete the young man's discomfiture, the milkmaid turned aside from the high road into a path that led through the woods. Auguste stood for a moment hesitating at the entrance to the path. Should he follow his cabriolet? or should he follow the girl? The first course was the more sensible, and that was his reason no doubt for deciding in favor of the second.

The time that Auguste had passed in indecision had allowed the milkmaid to get some distance ahead of him; she walked along the path, and, thinking that the young man had followed the highroad, she sang as she drove White Jean in front of her:

"You love me, you say, Then prove it, I pray; But dandies like you, Would hoax us, I know."

"Very pretty! although the rhyme isn't first-class," said Auguste, quickening his pace to overtake the girl. She turned, and seemed surprised to see the young man in the path behind her.

"What! you coming this way?" said the milkmaid, in a somewhat uncertain voice.

"To be sure; this path is lovely."

"Ain't you going to overtake your carriage?"

"I couldn't make up my mind to leave you."

"Oh! you're wasting your time, monsieur, and I promise you you'd do better to go after your carriage."

"But I much prefer to walk by your side, although you treat me so harshly; however, I have an idea that you're not so unkind as you choose to appear."

"Well, you're mistaken; I ain't kind at all; ask all the young fellows in Montfermeil how I treat them when they try to fool. Oh! Denise Fourcy is well known hereabout, I tell you."

"Denise Fourcy? Good, now I know your name."

"Well, what then? How does that put you ahead any?"

"It will help me to find out about you easily, and to find you again when I choose."

"Pardi! I ain't lost, and anyone can easily find me."

"Do you mean to say, Denise, that at your age, pretty as you are, you haven't a lover?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"Oh! very much!"

"Here in the country we ain't in such a hurry as your city ladies."

"Haven't women hearts in the country as well as elsewhere?"

"Yes; but they don't take fire the way yours does; it seems to me to be a little heart of tinder."

"Upon my word, she is really amusing!" said Auguste, laughingly.

"_She!_" repeated the milkmaid in an irritated tone; "how polite these fine gentlemen are! _She!_ Anyone would think we had known each other a long while."

"It depends entirely on you whether or not we shall be the best friends in the world in a moment. And to begin with, I must give you a kiss."

"No--no, monsieur--none of that sort of thing, if you please.--Oh! look out, or I'll scratch you."

Auguste, accustomed to defy such prohibitions, seized the little milkmaid by the waist, and tried to put his lips to her fresh, ruddy cheek; but she defended herself more vigorously than the city ladies do; to be sure, a peasant is less embarrassed by her clothes, she isn't afraid of rumpling them, and her corsets are not so tight that she cannot move her arms; that is the reason no doubt that a kiss is much harder to obtain from a peasant.

The kiss was taken at last; but it cost Auguste dear, for he bore below his left eye the marks of two nails which had drawn blood from the Parisian dandy's face. Thus each of the combatants was beaten, for each bore a token of defeat. But the war seemed not to be at an end. Denise, twice as red as she was before the battle, arranged her neckerchief, glaring angrily at the young man; while he put his hand to his face, and, finding blood there, wiped it with his handkerchief, looking at the girl with a less sentimental expression; for those two digs with her nails had cooled his ardor to an extraordinary degree.

"I'm glad of it," said the girl at last; "that will teach you to try to kiss a girl against her will, monsieur."

"I certainly didn't expect to be treated so. The idea of disfiguring me--just for a kiss!"

"If all women did the same, you wouldn't be so forward."

"Thank God, they don't all have the same ideas that you have. You hurt me terribly!"

"Oh! what troubles you the most is that it will show; you're afraid you won't be so pretty to look at."

"No, I assure you that that isn't what I am thinking about. I am sorry that I really made you angry. I realize that I was wrong. Come, Denise, let us make peace."

"No, monsieur, no, I don't listen to you any more."

And the milkmaid, thinking that the young man intended to try to kiss her again, ran to her donkey, and, in order to fly more rapidly, leaped on White Jean's back, and beat him with redoubled force. But it was the animal's custom to return placidly to the village, browsing on whatever he found by the roadside, and not to bear his young mistress on his back. Disturbed in his daily routine by this unexpected burden, White Jean broke into a fast trot, and entered the woods despite his mistress's efforts to make him follow the beaten path. Auguste heard the girl's cries as she tried in vain to hold her steed, dodging with much difficulty the branches which brushed against her face every instant. Forgetting the marks that Denise had left on his cheek, Dalville followed the milkmaid's track, in order to lead the ass back into the path; but when he heard running behind him, the infernal beast went faster than ever and rushed heedlessly into the densest part of the wood. Soon a stout branch barred the milkmaid's path. While her mount ran beneath it, she was swept to the ground; and as she fell another branch caught her skirt; so that poor Denise fell to the ground, face downward, with her skirt over her head and consequently not where it usually was.

Auguste came up at that moment. You can imagine the sight that met his eyes; and what the skirt no longer covered was white and plump and fresh. But we must do the young man justice; instead of amusing himself by contemplating so many attractive things, he ran to Denise. She shrieked and wept and gnashed her teeth. He succeeded in rescuing her head from her petticoats, and quickly covered--what you know.

Denise rose; but she was covered with confusion, she dared not look up at the young man, who, far from taking advantage of her embarrassment, inquired solicitously whether she was hurt.

"Oh, no! it ain't anything," said Denise, still blushing. "I should have forgotten all about it before this if that cursed branch--Pardi! I must be mighty unlucky."

"Why so? because you fell? Why, my dear child, that might happen to anybody."

"Yes, but it's possible to fall without showing--without--Never mind, you're the first one that ever saw it, all the same."

"Ah! I would like to be the last one, too.--Come, why this offended expression? I promise you that I didn't see anything; I thought of nothing but helping you. I was so afraid that you had hurt yourself! It would have been my fault; for, if it hadn't been for my nonsense, you would have gone your way in peace, and this wouldn't have happened."

As Denise listened to Auguste, her anger passed away, and she even smiled as she said:

"I ain't cross with you any more. You're more decent than I thought; if I'd fallen like that before the village fellows, they'd have laughed to begin with, and then they'd have made a lot of silly talk, and there wouldn't have been any end to it. Instead of that, you picked me right up, and you looked so scared!--I'm sorry now that I scratched you. Come, kiss me, to prove that you forgive me."

Auguste made the most of this permission. Denise was so pretty when she smiled! and a woman who defends herself so sturdily makes the favors that she grants seem the more precious.

So peace was made between the milkmaid and the young man. But White Jean was no longer there; overjoyed to be rid of his burden, he had kept on through the woods.

"Oh! I ain't worried," said Denise; "I'm sure he's gone home. Let's take this path and we shall soon be in the village."

They walked on; the milkmaid beside Auguste, who once more considered her a charming creature, since she had smiled upon him and had allowed him to kiss her. In truth, Denise's face was no longer the same; an angry expression is not becoming to a pretty face, and features that are made to inspire love should never express wrath. But they soon emerged from the woods and descended a hill, at the foot of which lay Montfermeil.

"There's my village," said Denise; "and look, do you see my ass trotting along down there? Oh! I knew he'd go right home.--Have you got business in the neighborhood?"

"No, not exactly. I am going to Monsieur Destival's country place. Do you know it?"

"To be sure; I carry milk to them, when Madame Destival stays there in summer. She always tells me to be careful about her little cheeses. You see, I make nice ones. I carried them a bigger one this morning, because Mamzelle Julie, madame's maid, told me they expected company from Paris."

"That being so, I probably shall have the pleasure of tasting your cheeses."

"But if you're going to Monsieur Destival's, you mustn't go to the village. I'll show you what road you must take."

"It will be much kinder of you to go with me and show me the way; as you are not anxious about your ass, there is nothing to hurry you."

"Oh, no! monsieur! I see that you're all right, but you're too fond of kissing the girls. Besides, my aunt is waiting for me. It's after noon, and our dinner-time.--Look, monsieur, take that road that goes up the hill yonder, then the first turn to the left, then the grass-grown road, and you'll find yourself at the place where you're going."

"I shall never remember all that. You will be responsible for my losing my way."

"You shouldn't have left your carriage."

"It was your lovely eyes that turned my head."

"Ah! you're going to begin again. Go along, quick, or they'll eat the cream cheese without you."

"I should be very sorry for that, as it was you who made it."

"The road up the hill--then turn to the left--then the grass-grown road. Adieu, monsieur."

"One more kiss, Denise."

"No, no; that sort of thing shouldn't be repeated too often; you'd soon get tired of it."

And Denise hurried down the hill toward the village. Auguste followed her with his eyes for a long while, saying to himself:

"She's very pretty, and she's bright too! What a pity that she doesn't live in Paris!--What am I saying? If she were in Paris, she'd look like all the rest; it's because she's a milkmaid that her face and her wit have impressed me.--Well, I will follow the directions she gave me, and arrive as soon as possible. I am sure that they are impatient for me to come; poor Bertrand won't know what to say, and Madame Destival will pout at me--how she will pout!--And great heaven! these scratches! how in the devil am I to explain them? Faith, I scratched myself picking nuts. It's a pity that nuts don't have thorns. But no matter, they may think what they choose."

So Auguste decided to resume his journey; but he cast another glance at Denise's village, and murmured as he walked away:

"I shall come again and make Montfermeil's acquaintance."

III

THE CHILD AND THE BOWL

Auguste followed the road that Denise had pointed out to him, his thoughts still fixed on the little milkmaid. The most fickle of men remembers the last woman who has succeeded in attracting him, until some new and pleasing object, causing him to feel other desires, effaces from his mind the charms of which he has lately dreamed.

Suddenly the sound of tears and lamentations roused the young man from his reverie. He looked about and spied, some ten yards away, by a large tree, a little boy of six years at most, dressed like a peasant's child, in a little jacket, trousers torn in several places, no stockings, and heavy wooden shoes; his head was bare, protected only by a forest of fair hair.

Auguste walked toward the little fellow, who wept lustily, and gazed with an air of stupefaction at the fragments of an earthen vessel at his feet, the former contents of which were spilled on the road. The child did not turn to look at the person who spoke to him, all his thoughts being concentrated on the broken vessel; he could do nothing but weep, raising to his head and eyes from time to time a pair of very grimy little hands, which, being wet by his tears, smeared his chubby face with mud.

"Why, what makes you cry so, my boy?" asked Auguste, stooping in order to be nearer the child.

The little fellow raised for an instant a pair of light-blue eyes, about which his little hands had drawn circles of black; then turned them again upon the pieces of broken crockery, muttering:

"I've broke the bowl--hi! hi! and papa's soup was in it--hi! hi! I'll get a licking, like I did before--hi! hi!"

"The deuce! that would be a misfortune, and no mistake! But stop crying, my boy, perhaps we can fix it all right. You say that you were carrying soup to your father?"

"Yes, and I broke the bowl."

"So I see. But why do they make you carry such a big bowl? You're too small as yet. How old are you, my boy?"

"Six and a half--and I broke the bowl, and papa's soup----"

"Yes, yes, it's on the ground; you mustn't think any more about it."

"It was cabbage soup--hi! hi!"

"Oh! I can smell it. But don't cry any more. I promise you that you shan't be whipped."

"Yes, I shall; I broke the bowl, and grandma told me to be very careful."

"Come, listen to me: what's your name?"

"Coco--and I've broke the bowl."

"Well, my little Coco, I'll give you money to buy another bowl, and to have three times as much cabbage soup made. I hope you won't cry any more now."

As he spoke, Auguste took a five-franc piece from his pocket and put it in the child's hand; but Coco stared at the coin with his big blue eyes open wider than ever, and continued none the less to sob bitterly, saying:

"Papa'll lick me, and so will grandma too."

"What! when you give them that money?"

"Papa's waiting for the soup for his dinner; and when he sees me without the bowl--"

"Well," thought Auguste, "I see that I must take it on myself to arrange this matter. It will make me still later; but this little fellow is so pretty! and they are quite capable of beating him, despite the five-franc piece. I wasted one hour making love to a milkmaid, I can afford to sacrifice a second to save this child a thrashing.--Come, Coco; off we go, my boy! Take me to your father; I'll tell him that it was I who knocked the bowl out of your hands as I passed, and I'll promise that you won't be beaten."

Coco looked at Auguste, then turned his eyes on the remains of the vessel, from which he was very reluctant to part. But Dalville took his hand, and the child concluded at last to start. On the way Auguste tried to make him talk, to divert him from his terror.

"What does your father do, my boy?"

"He works in the fields."

"And his name?"

"Papa Calleux."

"Papa Calleux evidently is not very pleasant, as you're so afraid of him. And your mother?"

"She's dead."

"Then it's your grandmother who makes the cabbage soup?"

"Yes, and she told me to be very careful and not break the bowl, like I did the other time."

"Aha! so you've broken one before, have you?"

"Yes, and there wasn't anything in it; but they licked me."

"You don't seem to be lucky with bowls. But the idea of whipping such a little fellow! These peasants must be very hardhearted. Poor boy! he is still sobbing; and he isn't seven years old! So there's no age at which we haven't our troubles."

The boy led Auguste across several fields, through the middle of which ran narrow paths. It took Auguste still farther from Monsieur Destival's; but he did not choose to leave the child until he saw that he was happy. At last they reached a field of potatoes, and Coco stopped and grasped his companion's arm with a trembling hand.

"There's papa," he said.

Some forty yards away Auguste saw a peasant plying the spade. He dropped the child's hand and walked toward the peasant, who kept at his work, bent double over the ground.

"Père Calleux, I have come to make amends for a slight accident," said Auguste, raising his voice.

The peasant raised his head and displayed a face covered with blotches, a huge nose, great eyes level with the face, a half-open mouth, and teeth that recalled those of Little Red Riding Hood's enemy. That extraordinary countenance expressed profound amazement at hearing a fashionably-dressed gentleman call him by name.

"I imagine that Père Calleux is as fond of wine as of cabbage soup," said Auguste to himself as he scrutinized the peasant.

"What can I do for you, monsieur?" asked the latter.

"I met your son Coco on the road----"

"Ah! where is he, I'd like to know? He was going to bring me my dinner.--Coco! what are you doing there?"

"Wait until I tell you the whole story; as I was looking at a fine view, I ran into the child, and I knocked the bowl he was carrying out of his hands; it broke, and----"

"You'll pay for it, that's all; for you're to blame for my having no dinner."

"Oh! that's but fair; that's why I came to speak to you. How much do I owe you? Name the price."

"Well, monsieur, it was a good soup-bowl; it was worth all of thirty sous; and there was twelve sous' worth of soup in it; for pork's dear round here----"

"See, here's five francs; are you satisfied?"

"Oh, yes! monsieur; that's fair enough; I haven't got anything to say."

"Then I hope that you won't scold your son; and, if you take my advice you won't make a child of that age carry such heavy loads any more."

"Oh! monsieur, it gets them used to being strong. We poor folks can't bring children up on lollipops.--Well, Coco, come here."

The child approached timidly, and, when he reached his father's side, began to whimper again, saying:

"I broke the bowl."

"Yes, yes, I know what happened; monsieur told me all about it. Go back to the house now, and tell Mère Madeleine to get me some dinner, and to be sure to have some wine. But no, I'd rather go to dinner at Claude's cabaret. Go home, Coco, and don't wait supper for me; I've got business in the town."

Auguste guessed that Père Calleux's business consisted in drinking up the five-franc piece to the last sou; but, satisfied to see that his young protégé was in high spirits, he bade the peasant adieu, and followed the child, who retraced the steps they had just taken; but this time he leaped and gambolled about his companion. His great grief was forgotten already! And they say that we are great children: it is true as concerns our foibles, but not as concerns happiness.

Auguste, happy in the little fellow's joy, took pleasure in watching him. Laughter sits so well upon a little face of six years! A person who is fond of children cannot conceive how anyone can look with indifference on their tears. And yet there are people for whom a dog's yelping has more charm than the laughter of a child! It speaks well for their depth of feeling!

As they went along, Coco sang and ran and played about Auguste, playing little tricks on him, for they were great friends already; at six years and a half one gives one's friendship as quickly as at twenty one gives one's heart. Auguste ran and played with the child; he chased him, caught him, and rolled with him on the grass, heedless of the fact that it stained his clothes, because the boy's laughter was so frank and true that it was often shared by his elegant companion.

What! you will say, a dandy, a lady-killer, a butterfly of fashion, amuse himself playing in the fields with a little peasant boy? Why not, pray? Happy the man who, as he grows old, retains his taste for the simple pleasures of his youth! Henri IV walked about his room on all fours, carrying his children on his back. When surprised in that position by the ambassador of a foreign power, he asked him, without rising, if he were a father, and, upon his answer in the affirmative, rejoined: "In that case, I'll just trot round the room."

When they reached the place where he had first met the child, Auguste would have bade him adieu and have gone his way; but Coco held his hand and refused to release it.

"Come home with me," he said, "please come; Mamma Madeleine will give you some nice butter. Come and you can see Jacqueleine; she's awful pretty, I tell you."

"Who is Jacqueleine, my boy?"

"She's our goat; she sleeps by me."

"And is your home far away?"

"No, it's right over there."

Auguste submitted to be led away. Coco repeating: "It's right over there," gave his companion another half-hour's walk. At last they came in sight of a wretched hovel, the thatched roof of which had fallen in in several places, standing on a crossroad, and Coco shouted: "Here we are; do you see our house?" Then he pulled his companion's sleeve, to make him run with him.

An old woman sat in front of the hovel; she was thin and bent, and her complexion reminded one of an Egyptian mummy. But a strong, shrill voice emerged from her fragile body.

"So here you are at last, lazybones!" she said to the child; "what have you been doing so long? Where's the bowl?"

Coco looked at Auguste, whom he was already accustomed to look upon as his protector; Auguste told Mère Madeleine the same fable that he had told Père Calleux, reinforced once more by the five-franc piece, which was the irresistible argument. At that the old woman tried to soften her voice, and urged Auguste to come in for a drink of goat's milk and some fresh butter, which were all that she could offer him. The young dandy entered the cabin. His heart sickened at the sight of that wretched habitation. The home of the Calleux family consisted of a single room. It was a large room, but the daylight lighted only a small part of it. The bare earth formed the floor; the walls, half whitewashed, had nothing upon them to conceal their nakedness; the thatched roof threatened disaster. Two cot beds, in the darkest corner, had no curtains to shelter them from the wind which entered on all sides. An old buffet, a chest, a table and a few chairs were the only other furniture.

"Where on earth do you sleep?" Auguste asked the child. He led him to a corner of the room, where it was almost impossible to see anything, and pointed out a small straw bed on the floor, with a dilapidated woolen coverlet thrown over it. Close beside it was a goat, lying in some straw that was spread on the ground.