FRANCOIS AND AMANDINE.
Francois and Amandine slept in a room immediately over the kitchen, and
at the end of a passage which communicated with several other apartments
that were used as "company rooms" for the guests who frequented the
cabaret. After having eaten their frugal supper, instead of putting out
their lantern, as the widow had ordered them, the two children watched,
leaving their door ajar, for their brother Martial's passing on his way
to his own chamber.
Placed on a crippled stool, the lantern shed its dull beams through the
transparent horn. Walls of plaster, with here and there brown deal
boards, a flock-bed for Francois, a little old child's bed, much too
short, for Amandine, a pile of broken chairs and dismembered benches,
mementoes of the turbulent visitors to the cabaret of the Isle du
Ravageur,--such was the interior of this dog-hole.
Amandine, seated at the edge of the bed, was trying how to dress her
head _en marmotte_, with the stolen silk handkerchief, the gift of her
brother Nicholas. Francois was on his knees, holding up a piece of
broken glass to his sister, who, with her head half turned, was employed
in spreading out the large rosette which she had made in tying the two
ends of the kerchief together. Wonder-struck at this head-dress,
Francois for an instant neglected to present the bit of glass in such a
way that her face could be reflected in it.
"Lift the looking-glass higher," said Amandine; "I can't see myself at
all now! There, that's it,--that'll do! Hold it so a minute! Now I've
done it! Well, look! How have I done my head?"
"Oh, capitally,--excellently! What a handsome rosette! You'll make me
just such a one for my cravat, won't you?"
"Yes, directly. But let me walk up and down a little. You can go before
me--backwards--holding the glass up, just in that way. There--so! I can
then see myself as I walk."
Francois then went through this difficult manoeuvre to the great
satisfaction of Amandine, who strutted up and down in all her pride and
dignity, under the large bow of her head attire.
Very simple and unsophisticated under any other circumstances, this
coquetry became guilt when displayed in reference to the produce of a
robbery of which Francois and Amandine were not ignorant. Another proof
of the frightful facility with which children, however well disposed,
become corrupted almost imperceptibly when they are continually immersed
in a criminal atmosphere.
Then, the sole mentor of these unfortunate children, their brother
Martial, was by no means irreproachable himself, as we have already
said. Incapable, it is true, of a theft or a murder, still he led a
vagabond and ill-regulated life. Undoubtedly his mind revolted at the
crimes of his family. He loved these two children very fondly, and
protected them from ill-treatment, endeavouring to withdraw them from
the pernicious influences of the family; but not taking his stand on the
foundations of rigorous and sound morality, his advice was but an
ineffective safeguard to these children. They refused to commit certain
bad actions, not from honest sentiments, but in order to obey Martial,
whom they loved, and to disobey their mother, whom they dreaded and
hated.
As to ideas of right and wrong, they had none, familiarised as they were
with the infamous examples which they had every day under their eyes;
for, as we have said, this country cabaret, haunted by the refuse of the
lowest order, was the theatre of most disgraceful orgies and most
disgusting debaucheries; and Martial, opposed as he was to thefts and
murders, appeared perfectly indifferent to these infamous saturnalia.
It may be supposed, therefore, that the instincts of morality in these
children were doubtful and precarious, especially those of Francois, who
had reached that dangerous time of life when the mind pauses, and,
oscillating between good and evil, might be in a moment lost or saved.
* * * * *
"How well you look in that handkerchief, sister!" said Francois; "it is
very pretty. When we go to play on the shore by the chalk-burner's
lime-kiln you must dress yourself in this manner, to make the children
jealous who pelt us with stones and call us little guillotines. And I
shall put on my nice red cravat, and we will say to them, 'Never mind,
you haven't such pretty silk handkerchiefs as we have!'"
"But, I say, Francois," said Amandine, after a moment's reflection, "if
they knew that the handkerchiefs we wear were stolen, they would call us
little thieves."
"Well, and what should we care if they did call us little thieves?"
"Why, not at all, if it were not true. But now--"
"Since Nicholas gave us these handkerchiefs, we didn't steal them!"
"No; but he took them out of a barge; and Brother Martial says no one
ought to steal."
"But, as Nicholas states, that is no affair of ours."
"Do you think so, Francois?"
"Of course I do."
"Still, it seems to me that I would rather the person who really owns
them had given them to us. What do you say, Francois?"
"Oh, it's all one to me! They were given to us, and so they're ours."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Why, yes--yes; make yourself easy about that."
"So much the better, then, for we are not doing what Brother Martial
forbids, and we have such nice handkerchiefs!"
"But, Amandine, if he had known the other day that Calabash had made you
take the plaid handkerchief from the peddler's pack whilst his back was
turned?"
"Oh, Francois, don't talk about it; I have been so very sorry. But I was
really forced to do it, for my sister pinched me until the blood came,
and looked at me so--oh, in such a way! And yet my heart failed me
twice, and I thought I never could do it. The peddler didn't find it
out; yet, if they had caught me, Francois, I should have been sent to
prison."
"But you weren't caught; so it's just the same as if you had not
stolen."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes."
"And in prison how unhappy we must be."
"On the contrary--"
"How do you mean on the contrary?"
"Why, you know the fat cripple who lodges at Father Micou's, the man who
buys all Nicholas's things, and keeps a lodging-house in the Passage de
la Brasserie?"
"A fat cripple?"
"Why, yes, who came here the end of last autumn from Father Micou, with
a man who had monkeys and two women."
"Ah, yes, a stout, lame man, who spent such a deal of money."
"I believe you; he paid for everybody. Don't you recollect the rows on
the water when I pulled them, and the man with the monkeys brought his
organ, that they might have music in the boat?"
"Yes; and in the evening the beautiful fireworks they let off,
Francois?"
"And the fat cripple was not stingy, either. He gave me ten sous for
myself. He drank nothing but our best wine, and they had chickens at
every meal. He spent full eighty francs."
"So much as that, Francois?"
"Oh, yes!"
"How rich he must be!"
"Not at all. What he spent was money he had gained in prison, from which
he had just come."
"Gained all that money in prison?"
"Yes; he said he had seven hundred francs beside, and that, when that
was all gone, he should try another good 'job;' and if he were taken, he
didn't care, because he should go back to his jolly 'pals in the Stone
Jug,' as he said."
"Then he wasn't afraid of prison, Francois?"
"On the contrary; he told Calabash that they were a party of friends and
merrymakers all together; and that he had never had a better bed and
better food than when he was in prison. Good meat four times a week,
fire all the winter, and a lump of money when he left it; whilst there
are fools of honest workmen who are starving with cold and hunger, for
want of work."
"Are you sure he said that, Francois,--the stout lame man?"
"I heard him, for I was rowing him in the punt whilst he told his story
to Calabash and the two women, who said that it was the same thing in
the female prisons they had just left."
"But then, Francois, it can't be so bad to steal, if people are so well
off in prison."
"Oh, the deuce! I don't know. Here it is only Brother Martial who says
it is wrong to steal; perhaps he is wrong."
"Never mind if he is, Francois. We ought to believe him, for he loves us
so much!"
"Yes, he loves us; and, when he is by, there is no fear of our being
beaten. If he had been here this evening, our mother would not have
thrashed me so. An old beast! How savage she is! Oh, how I hate
her--hate her! And how I wish I was grown up, that I might pay her back
the thumps she gives us, especially to you, who can't bear them as well
as I can."
"Oh, Francois, hold your tongue; it quite frightens me to hear you say
that you would beat mother!" cried the poor little child, weeping, and
throwing her arms around her brother's neck, and kissing him
affectionately.
"It's quite true, though," answered Francois, extricating himself gently
from Amandine. "Why are my mother and Calabash always so savage to us?"
"I do not know," replied Amandine, wiping her eyes with the back of her
hand. "It is, perhaps, because they sent Brother Ambroise to the
galleys, and guillotined our father, that they are unjust towards us."
"Is that our fault?"
"Oh, no! But what would you have?"
"_Ma foi!_ If I am always to have beatings,--always, always, at last I
should rather steal, as they do, I should. What do I gain by not being a
thief?"
"Ah, what would Martial say to that?"
"Ah, but for him, I should have said yes a long time ago, for I am tired
of being thumped for ever; why, this evening, my mother was more savage
than ever; she was like a fury! It was pitch dark. She didn't say a
word; and I felt nothing but her clammy hand holding me by the scruff of
my neck, whilst with the other she beat me; and whilst she did so, her
eyes seemed to glare in the dark."
"Poor Francois! for only having said you saw a dead man's bone by the
wood-pile."
"Yes, a foot that was sticking out of the ground," said Francois,
shuddering with fright; "I am quite sure of it."
"Perhaps there was a burying-ground there once."
"Perhaps; but then, why did mother say she'd be the death of me, if I
said a word about the bone to our Brother Martial? I rather think it is
some one who has been killed in a quarrel, and that they have buried him
there, that no one might know anything about it."
"You are right; for don't you remember that such a thing did nearly
happen once?"
"When?"
"Don't you remember once when M. Barbillon wounded with a knife that
tall man, who is so very thin, that he showed himself for money?"
"Oh, the walking skeleton, as they call him? Yes; and mother came and
separated them; if she hadn't, I think Barbillon would have killed the
tall, thin man. Did you see how Barbillon foamed at the mouth? and his
eyes seemed ready to start from his head. Oh, he does not mind who he
cuts and slashes with his knife,--he's such a headstrong, passionate
fellow!"
"So young and so wicked, Francois?"
"Tortillard is much younger, and he would be quite as wicked as he, if
he were strong enough."
"Oh, yes, he's very, very wicked! The other day he beat me, because I
would not play with him."
"He beat you, did he? Then, the first time he comes--"
"No, no, Francois; it was only in jest."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, quite sure."
"Very well, then, for, if not--But I don't know how he manages, the
scamp! But he always has so much money. He's so lucky! When he came
here with the Chouette, he showed us pieces of gold of twenty francs;
and didn't he look knowing as he said, 'Oh, you might have the same, if
you were not such little muffs!'"
"Muffs?"
"Yes; in slang that means fools, simpletons."
"Yes, to be sure."
"Forty francs in gold! What a many fine things I could buy with that!
Couldn't you, Amandine?"
"That I could."
"What should you buy?"
"Let's see," said the little girl, bending her head, and meditating. "I
should first buy Brother Martial a good thick outside coat, that would
keep him warm in his boat."
"But for yourself,--for yourself."
"I should like a crucifixion, like those image-sellers had on Sunday,
you know, under the church porch at Asnieres."
"Yes; and, now I think of it, we must not tell mother or Calabash that
we went into a church."
"To be sure, for she has always forbidden us to go into a church. What a
pity! For church is such a nice place inside, isn't it, Francois?"
"Yes; and what beautiful silver candlesticks!"
"And the picture of the holy Virgin, how kind she looks!"
"And did you look at the fine lamps, and the handsome cloth on the large
table at the bottom, when the priest was saying mass with his two
friends, dressed like himself, and who gave him water and wine?"
"Tell me, Francois, do you remember last year, at the Fete-Dieu, when we
saw from here the little communicants, with their white veils, pass over
the bridge?"
"What nice nosegays they had!"
"How they sang in a soft tone, holding the ribands of their banners!"
"And how the silver lace of their banners shone in the sunshine! What a
deal of money it must have cost!"
"Oh, how beautiful it was! Wasn't it, Francois?"
"I believe you! And the communicants with their bows of white satin on
the arm, and their wax candles, with red velvet and gold on the part by
which they hold them."
"And the little boys had their banners, too, hadn't they, Francois? Ah,
Francois, how I was thumped that day for asking our mother why we did
not go in the procession, like the other children!"
"And it was then she forbade us from ever going into a church when we
should go into the town, or to Paris; 'Unless it was to rob the
poor-box, or the pockets of the people who were hearing mass,' Calabash
said, grinning, and showing her nasty yellow teeth. Oh, what a bad thing
she is!"
"Oh, and as for that, they should kill me before I would rob in a
church; and you, too, Francois?"
"There, or anywhere; what difference does it make, when once one has
made up one's mind?"
"Why, I don't know; but I should be so frightened, I could never do it."
"Because of the priests?"
"No; but because of the portrait of the holy Virgin, who seems so kind
and good."
"What consequence is a portrait? It won't eat or drink, you silly
child!"
"That's very true; but then I really couldn't. It is not my fault."
"Talking of priests, Amandine, do you remember that day when Nicholas
gave me two such hard boxes on the ear, because he saw me make a bow to
the curate, who passed on the bank? I had seen everybody salute him, and
so I saluted him; I didn't think I was doing any wrong."
"Yes; but then, you know, Brother Martial said, as Nicholas did, that
there was no occasion to salute the priests."
At this moment Francois and Amandine heard footsteps in the passage.
Martial was going to his chamber, without any mistrust, after his
conversation with his mother, believing that Nicholas was safely locked
up until the next morning. Seeing a ray of light coming from out the
closet in which the children slept, Martial came into the room. They
both ran to him, and he embraced them affectionately.
"What! Not in bed yet, little gossips?"
"No, brother, we waited until you came, that we might see you, and wish
you good night," said Amandine.
"And then we heard you speaking very loud below, as if there were a
quarrel," added Francois.
"Yes," said Martial, "I had some dispute with Nicholas, but it was
nothing. Besides, I am glad to see you awake, as I have some good news
for you."
"For us, brother?"
"Should you like to go away from here, and come with me a long way off?"
"Oh, yes, brother!"
"Yes, brother!"
"Well, then, in two or three days we shall all three leave the island."
"Oh, how delightful!" exclaimed Amandine, clapping her hands with joy.
"And where shall we go to?" inquired Francois.
"You will see, Mr. Inquisitive; no matter; but where you will learn a
good trade, which will enable you to earn your living, be sure of that."
"Then I sha'n't go fishing with you any more, brother?"
"No, my boy, you will be put apprentice to a carpenter or locksmith. You
are strong and handy, and with a good heart; and working hard, at the
end of a year you may already have earned something. But you don't seem
to like it: why, what ails you now?"
"Why, brother,--I--"
"Come, come! Speak out."
"Why, I'd rather not leave you, but stay with you, and fish, and mend
your nets, than go and learn a trade."
"Really?"
"Why, to be shut up in a workshop all day is so very dull; and then it
must be so tiresome to be an apprentice."
Martial shrugged his shoulders.
"So, then, you would rather be an idler, a scamp, a vagabond,--eh?" said
he, in a stern voice; "and then, perhaps, a thief?"
"No, brother; but I should like to live with you elsewhere, as we live
here, that's all."
"Yes, that's it; eat, drink, sleep, and amuse yourself with fishing,
like an independent gentleman,--eh?"
"Yes, I should like it."
"Very likely; but you must prefer something else. You see, my poor dear
lad, that it is quite time I took you away from here; for, without
perceiving it, you have become as idle as the rest. My mother was
right,--I fear you have vice in you. And you, Amandine, shouldn't you
like to learn some business?"
"Oh, yes, brother; I should like very much to learn anything rather than
stay here. I should dearly like to go with you and Francois."
"But what have you got on your head, my child?" inquired Martial,
observing Amandine's very fine head-dress.
"A handkerchief that Nicholas gave me."
"And he gave me one, too," said Francois, with an air of pride.
"And where did these handkerchiefs come from? I should be very much
surprised to learn that Nicholas bought them to make you a present of."
The two children lowered their eyes, and made no reply. After a second,
Francois said, with a resolute air, "Nicholas gave them to us. We do not
know where they came from, do we, Amandine?"
"No, no, brother," replied Amandine, stammering, and turning very red,
not daring to look Martial in the face.
"Don't tell lies," said Martial, harshly.
"We don't tell lies," replied Francois, doggedly.
"Amandine, my child, tell the truth," said Martial, mildly.
"Well, then, to tell the whole truth," replied Amandine, timidly, "these
fine handkerchiefs came out of a box of things that Nicholas brought in
this evening in his boat."
"And which he had stolen?"
"I think so, brother,--out of a barge."
"So then, Francois, you lie?" said Martial.
The boy bent down his head, but made no reply.
"Give me this handkerchief, Amandine; and yours, too, Francois."
The little girl took off her head-dress, gave a last look at the large
bow, which was not untied, and gave the handkerchief to Martial,
repressing a sigh of regret. Francois drew his slowly out of his pocket,
and then gave it to his brother, as his sister had done.
"To-morrow morning," he said, "I will return these handkerchiefs to
Nicholas. You ought not to have taken them, children. To profit by a
robbery is as if one robbed oneself."
"It is a pity those handkerchiefs were so pretty!" said Francois.
"When you have learned a trade, and earn money by your work, you will
buy some as good. Go to bed, my dears,--it is very late."
"You are not angry, brother?" said Amandine, timidly.
"No, no, my love, it is not your fault. You live with ill-disposed
persons, and you do as they do unconsciously. When you are with honest
persons, you will do as they do; and you'll soon be with such, or the
devil's in it. So now, good night!"
"Good night, brother!"
Martial kissed the children. They were now alone.
"What's the matter with you, Francois,--you seem very sorrowful!" said
Amandine.
"Why, brother has taken my nice handkerchief; and besides, didn't you
hear what he said?"
"What?"
"He means to take us with him, and put us apprentice."
"And ain't you glad?"
"_Ma foi_, no!"
"Would you rather stay here and be beaten every day?"
"Why, if I am beaten I am not made to work. I am all day in the boat,
fishing, or playing, or waiting on the customers, who sometimes give me
something, as the stout lame man did. It is much more amusing than to be
from morning till night shut up in a workshop working like a dog."
"But didn't you understand? Why, brother said that if we remained here
longer we should become evil-disposed."
"Ah! bah! That's all one to me, since the other children call us already
little thieves,--little guillotines! And then to work is too tiresome!"
"But here they are always beating us, brother!"
"They beat us because we listen to Martial more than to any one else."
"Oh, he is so kind to us!"
"Yes, he is kind,--very kind,--I don't say he ain't; and I am very fond
of him. No one dares to be unkind to us when he is by. He takes us out
with him,--that's true; but that's all; he never gives us anything."
"Why, he has nothing. What he gains he gives our mother to pay for his
eating, drinking, and lodging."
"Nicholas has something. You may be sure if we attend to what he and
mother say, they would not make our lives so uncomfortable, but give us
pretty things, as they did to-day. They would not distrust us, and we
should have money like Tortillard."
"But we must steal for that; and how that would grieve dear, good
Martial!"
"Well, so much the worse!"
"Oh, Francois! And then we should be taken up and put into prison."
"To be in a prison or shut up in a workshop all day is the same thing.
Besides, the Gros-Boiteux says they amuse themselves very much in
prison."
"But how sorry Martial would be; only think of that! And then it is on
our account that he returned here, and remains with us! For himself only
he would not have any difficulty, but could go again and be a poacher in
the woods which he is so very fond of."
"Oh, if he'll take us with him into the woods," said Francois, "that
would be better than anything else. I should be with him I am so fond
of, and should not work at any business that would tire me."
The conversation of Francois and Amandine was interrupted. Some one
outside double-locked their door.
"They have fastened us in," said Francois.
"Oh, what can it be for, brother? What are they going to do to us?"
"It is Martial, perhaps."
"Listen, listen,--how his dog barks!" said Amandine, listening.
After a few minutes, Francois added:
"It sounds as if some one were knocking at his door with a hammer.
Perhaps they want to force it open!"
"Yes; but how the dog barks still!"
"Listen, Francois! It is as if they were nailing something. Oh, dear,
oh, dear, how frightened I am! What are they doing to our brother? And
how the dog howls still!"
"Amandine, I hear nothing now," said Francois, going towards the door.
The two children held their breath, and listened anxiously.
"They are coming from my brother's room," said Francois, in a low voice;
"I hear them walking in the passage."
"Let us throw ourselves on our beds; mother would kill us if she found
us out of bed," said Amandine, terrified.
"No," said Francois, still listening; "they have just passed by our
door, and are running down the staircase."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, what can it be?"
"Ah, now they are opening the kitchen door."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, yes; I know the sound."
"Martial's dog is still howling," said Amandine, listening. Suddenly she
exclaimed, "Francois, our brother calls us."
"Martial?"
"Yes; don't you hear him? Don't you hear him now?"
And at this moment, in spite of the thickness of the two closed doors,
the powerful voice of Martial, who called to the children from his room,
reached them.
"Indeed, we can't go to him; we are locked in," said Amandine. "They
must be doing something wrong to him, as he calls us."
"Oh, as to that, if I could hinder them," exclaimed Francois,
resolutely, "I would, even if they were to cut me to pieces!"
"But our brother does not know that they have double-locked our door,
and he will believe that we would not go to his help. Call out to him
that we are locked in, Francois."
The lad was just going to do as his sister bade him, when a violent blow
was struck outside the shutter of the window of the room in which the
two children were.
"They are coming in by the window to kill us!" cried Amandine, and, in
her fright, she threw herself on her bed and hid her head between her
hands.
Francois remained motionless, although he shared his sister's terror.
However, after the violent blow we have mentioned, the shutter was not
opened, and the most profound silence reigned throughout the house.
Martial had ceased calling to the children.
A little assured, and excited by intense curiosity, Francois ventured to
open the window a little way, and tried to look out through the leaves
of the blind.
"Mind, brother!" said Amandine, in a low voice, and sitting up when she
heard Francois open the shutter.
"Can you see anything?" she added.
"No, the night is too dark."
"Don't you hear anything?"
"No, the wind is too high."
"Come in, then; come in."
"Oh, now I see something!"
"What?"
"The light of a lantern, which moves backwards and forwards."
"Who's carrying it?"
"I can only see the light. Ah, she comes nearer,--she is speaking!"
"Who?"
"Listen,--listen! It is Calabash."
"What does she say?"
"She says the ladder must be fixed securely."
"Oh, it was then in taking away the high ladder that was placed against
our shutter that they made that noise just now."
"I don't hear anything now."
"What have they done with the ladder?"
"I can't see it now."
"Can you hear anything?"
"No."
"Francois, perhaps they are going to use it to enter our Brother
Martial's room by the window!"
"Very likely."
"If you could open our window a little more you might see."
"I am afraid."
"Only a little bit."
"Oh, no, no! If mother saw us!"
"It is so dark, there is no danger."
Francois, much against his will, did as his sister requested, and
pushing the shutter back, looked out.
"Well, brother?" said Amandine, surmounting her fears, and approaching
Francois on tiptoe.
"By the gleam of the lantern," said he, "I see Calabash, who is holding
the foot of the ladder, which is resting against Martial's window."
"Well?"
"Nicholas is going up the ladder with his axe in his hand. I see it
glitter."
"Ah, you are not in bed, then, but watching us!" exclaimed the widow,
addressing Francois and his sister from outside. As she was returning to
the kitchen she saw the light, which escaped through the open window.
The unfortunate children had neglected putting out the lantern.
"I am coming," added the widow, in a terrible voice; "I am coming to
you, you little spies!"
Such were the events which passed in the Isle du Ravageur on the evening
of the day before that on which Madame Seraphin was to take
Fleur-de-Marie thither.