she was five years old. They were so poor, that they had left nothing
whatever for the maintenance of their child, and Françoise was placed
with her uncle, her father's brother, who being himself very poor and
having lost his wife, found it quite difficult enough to provide for
the two little boys which she had left him, without the additional
charge of a little girl. While he was grieving over this matter,
there came into the village in which he lived a man named Jacques,
whom he knew from having worked with him at the harvest, during the
previous year.
Jacques was a native of _Auvergne_, and a long way from his own
province, for what was formerly called Auvergne, is, as you remember,
Eugène, that part of the country where the departments of the
Puy-de-Dôme, du Cantal, &c., are now situated, and he was then in
Maine, which is at present the department of the Sarthe. The natives
of Auvergne are much in the habit of travelling beyond the limits of
their own province. They leave it, while very young, to make what
they call their _Tour of France_. As long as they are little, they
sweep chimneys, like the Savoyards, and more than half of those
children we meet with in the streets and call Savoyards, are really
natives of Auvergne: they also go of errands in the town, and work
in the country when they can get any to do. Many are travelling
blacksmiths, and you may often meet them, carrying on their shoulders
old shovels, old tongs, or old pots, which they buy, mend, and sell
again. When they have gained a little money, they return to their own
country, and marry. They are generally very honest and industrious
people, but Jacques did not resemble them.
He thought himself possessed of more wit than others, because,
instead of working, he invented a thousand deceptions to get a
living. Sometimes he told fortunes, that is to say, he foretold what
would happen to people, on the next day, or the following days, as if
he really knew, and he found many foolish enough to believe him and
to pay for his predictions. At other times, he would make up little
bundles of herbs, which he gathered in the fields, and sell them to
the country people, as certain remedies for the tooth-ache, or the
bite of a mad dog. He would then go and spend in drink, the money
obtained by this knavery. At other times, he would beg; but he never
worked, while it was possible for him to do anything else.
The uncle of Françoise told him of his embarrassments. Françoise
was very pretty, and very quick and intelligent for her age. "Give
her to me," said Jacques, "I will teach her to tell fortunes." The
truth was, that at that time Jacques was forced to beg, as he had
squandered all his money, and he thought also that it would be much
more interesting to have with him a little girl whom he could pass
off as his daughter, and to whom more would be given than to him. It
was not, in truth, very convenient for a man without money, and who
was constantly wandering from place to place, to burden himself with
a little girl only five years old; but persons like Jacques never
think of the future; and besides, if ever she happened to stand in
the way of his interests, he was not one who would feel much scruple
in leaving her on the first road he came to, whenever it happened to
suit his convenience.
Her uncle made no inquiries about all this; he was so rejoiced to get
rid of Françoise that he did not even trouble himself to consider
that fortune-telling is a very disreputable trade, since it is a
system of deceptions. However, as he was rather ashamed of thus
abandoning his brother's child, he told in the village that Jacques
was going to take her to her mother's native place, which was a long
way off, and leave her with a relation who would take care of her; so
that no one thought any more of Françoise, and she remained entirely
in the power of Jacques, who could do what he pleased with her.
The first few days, she found it pleasant enough to run about the
country. Jacques did not travel very rapidly, for as soon as he
obtained any money, on account of the pretty face of Françoise, he
stopped at a public-house, in order to spend it in drink. Françoise
liked this well enough, for on these occasions she always got
something to eat; nevertheless, if Jacques remained too long, she
become weary, cried, and ended by falling asleep.
At last the fatigue of this sort of life made her ill. Then Jacques
taught her to remain on his back with her arms round his neck, and
seated in a kind of sack, the strings of which he held in front of
him. Thus equipped, he begged for his sick child, and by this means
obtained much more than before.
One evening when he was intoxicated, he lost his hold of the sack,
and poor Françoise fell down, hurt her head very much, and almost
dislocated her arm. As she screamed a good deal, Jacques was annoyed,
and threatened to throw her into a ditch. She was dreadfully afraid
of him, for he had already beaten her several times, especially when
he was intoxicated; she therefore ceased, and after having wept in
silence for a long time, she fell asleep by his side in a ditch where
he passed the night.
The following day she was in a violent state of fever. It is
difficult to say what Jacques would have done with her, had not a
carrier, who fortunately happened to be passing by, given him for
charity, a place in his cart, for himself and his _sick child_, and
in this manner they arrived at Cavignat, which was Jacques's native
village. Poor little Françoise was almost dying. She was stretched on
the straw of the cart, her head leaning down, and her little face,
all pale, and bruised from the fall, was covered with tears, which
flowed abundantly from her closed eyes.
The vehicle was quickly surrounded by the women of the village,
who questioned one another as to who this child could be, for they
had always understood that Jacques was unmarried, and they were
therefore greatly astonished at seeing a little girl with him.
Whilst he was fabricating a story on this subject, Madame Pallois,
the Curé's sister, happened to pass. She was a very virtuous and
benevolent woman, and although not affluent, did a great deal of
good in the village, where she visited and took care of the poor,
worked for them, and frequently even served them for a doctor. She
saw immediately that Françoise especially required food and rest. She
had her carried at once into Jacques's house, as she believed her to
be his daughter. She herself brought her some soup and a little wine,
as well as some sheets to sleep in: she examined and dressed her
arm, which was very much swollen, and desired that great care should
be taken of her; and as Madame Pallois was highly respected in the
village, her orders were always obeyed.
Jacques's house was inhabited by his mother. This house, which was
nothing more than a poor hut, half-destroyed, was her only property,
for her son had compelled her to sell some small patches of land
which she possessed, in order to give him the price of them. He now
came back to see whether there was anything else he could take from
her; but she could not give him anything more, unless she consented
to sell her house and sleep in the street, and this she refused to
do. Then this detestable son became angry, he abused her, and even
appeared on the point of beating her, so much so that the inhabitants
of the village, filled with indignation at his conduct, forced him
to leave it, threatening if he again entered it during his mother's
lifetime, to denounce him to the authorities of the place. Françoise
was not sufficiently restored to be able to accompany him, but this
did not disturb him, as his head was now filled with other projects.
He therefore left her, and she, on her part, was perfectly satisfied
never to see him again.
She remained with his mother, who was called in the village old
_Catichou_, which in the _patois_ of Limousin, and of a part of
Auvergne, is equivalent to _Catherine_, just as _Françoise_ was
called _Françou_. She soon recovered, and old Catichou, who believed
her to be her grandchild, was very fond of her. Catichou was, on the
whole, a tolerably good sort of woman, though she had so worthless
a son, whom she had brought up very badly, not having very correct
principles herself. Madame Pallois also was kind to Françou, and
always gave her something when she went to see her, such as fruit,
nuts, a little bacon, butter, or cheese. Françou, who was generous
always gave at least half of everything to Catichou, to whom she
was much attached, especially when she compared her with Jacques.
Catichou was fond of good living, and at the same time very poor; on
these occasions, therefore, she received Françou with such kindness,
that the child was so delighted at being able to carry her something,
that she went every day to seek for food in the village, where she
was considered very pretty, and much liked. If nothing was given to
her, she asked for anything that took her fancy; and it sometimes
happened that when not observed, she took without asking whatever
came within her reach, scarcely knowing that she did wrong; and
when she brought home a few carrots or eggs that she had found the
means of secreting, or some hemp or beans which she had taken from
the fields, or from the places where they had been laid to dry, old
Catichou troubled herself but little how they were obtained, quite
satisfied with profiting by them. Madame Pallois, indeed, endeavoured
to instil correct principles into the mind of Françou, and often
exhorted her to conduct herself properly; but as she was not aware
of her propensity to theft, she had not thought of alluding to that
subject.
Old Catichou died, and Jacques returned to the village, to the great
annoyance of every one, for he was a worthless fellow. Madame Pallois
especially was grieved to think that he would set a bad example to
Françou, and teach her many evil habits; but there was no means of
preventing him from coming to his own house, or from having with him
one who was believed to be his daughter, for he had forbidden her to
say he was not her father, as he did not wish it to be known that
he had been into Maine, where he had been guilty of many fraudulent
practices, which he feared might be discovered. Françou said nothing
about the matter at first, or if she did, what she said had not been
understood, as she could not speak the _patois_ of the country, and
after a time she ceased to think of it. She cried very much when
Catichou died; but she was indifferent about seeing Jacques again,
for she no longer felt afraid of him. Three years had passed since
his departure, and she had forgotten his ill treatment. She was now
eight years of age, clever, active, and determined: she was, besides,
kind-hearted in the highest degree, always ready to oblige, going
of errands for one, and assisting another in driving his donkey, or
weeding his garden. In fine, every one loved her, and, indeed she
would have well merited this love, had it not been for that one bad
propensity, of which all were as yet ignorant.
Perhaps she might have overcome this fault, for loving Jacques much
less than Catichou, she had no wish to carry anything to him, and she
never thought of stealing for herself. Besides, she saw little of
him, for he had connected himself with a band of smugglers--people
who fraudulently import merchandise without paying the duty. He
frequently passed whole days and nights away from home; and had it
not been for the inhabitants of the village, Françou would often have
run the risk of perishing of hunger.
One day when she complained of his not giving her anything to eat, he
told her, in a brutal tone, that he had nothing to give her, and that
she must go and earn her living by asking for alms on the high road,
where just then many persons were expected to pass on their way to a
neighbouring fair. Françou at first refused; Jacques told her that he
would beat her, and not allow her to enter the house, if she did not
bring something back with her in the evening. She went, therefore.
The first person who passed by, refused to give her anything; the
second called her a lazy thing, and a little boy made game of her.
Françou had often heard it said that she was pretty, and such
compliments had rendered her proud, neither was she accustomed to
insults; she therefore returned home, her heart burning with shame,
and her eyes filled with tears, and declared that she would never
beg again. Jacques beat her, and the following day led her by force
upon the high road; but the moment he was out of sight she went away.
In the evening, he asked her how much she had received.
"Nothing," she replied, "I did not remain upon the road." He beat her
again: she began to scream, and in the midst of her tears protested
a thousand times, that no one should force her to be called a little
lazy thing. Jacques turned her out of the house, and she passed the
whole night out of doors. In the morning he found her half-dead with
cold: "Do you mean to go upon the road to-day?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, "but it will be to go away altogether."
In a transport of fury Jacques raised his hand.
"I am going," she said, running away.
"I will lock you up," exclaimed Jacques.
"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.