“there is no one here but myself.”
“I know that very well, it is to yourself I am speaking.”
“I do not know, sir, why you address me thus, I am not acquainted with
you.”
“Yes, but I am acquainted with you, you are Finot, an escaped criminal,
condemned to the galleys for robbery and assaults.”
“You are mistaken, sir, I am not the person you pretend to know so
well.”
“Then who are you, whence do you come, and where were you going?”
“I am a dealer in sheep and was on my way to a fair at Moulins, to buy
lambs.”
“Indeed! and your companion, is he also a dealer in sheep and lambs?”
“I do not know, we had met but a few moments before we were attacked
and overcome by a band of robbers.”
“And what about the papers in your pockets?”
“I do not even know what they contain, we found them not far from here,
and had not time to examine them.”
“And the knives?”
“The knives were with the papers.”
“Really, you were lucky, to find and pick up so much without being able
to see, the night was very dark.”
“It was mere chance. My comrade stepped upon something that felt
strange, we both stooped down, and feeling around, found these papers
and knives which we divided.”
“It is very unfortunate they were divided, for this circumstance
furnishes evidence sufficient to thrust each of you in prison.”
“You have no right to put us in prison, we are honest men.”
“That is just what we are to find out, and before very long. Good day,
Finot. Do not disturb yourself,” added he, seeing that Finot attempted
to rise from the bench. “Men, give this man every attention, and keep
him under your eye, for he has already escaped us more than once.”
The officer retired, leaving Finot anxious and dejected.
“If Passe Partout should only give the same account as myself,” said
Finot, “but it is mere chance that he does.”
Seeing the officer enter, Passe Partout felt that all was lost;
however, he tried to conceal his anxiety and appear at ease, whilst the
policeman looked at him attentively.
“How do you happen to be here wounded and tied?” said the officer.
“I know nothing about it,” answered Passe Partout.
“You certainly know who you are, where you were going, by whom you were
wounded.”
“I know very well who I am, and where I was going, but I do not know
who brutally attacked me.”
“Well then, we will proceed in order—who are you?”
“Is that your business? You have no right to ask travelers who they
are.”
“I have so good a right, that I put thumb-screws on those who refuse to
answer, and take them to prison.”
“I will begin again: who are you?”
“I am a cider merchant.”
“Your name if you please.”
“Robert Partout.”
“Where were you going?”
“Just wherever I could buy cider.”
“You were not alone, you had a companion?”
“Yes, my partner in business, we attend to our affairs together.”
“And these papers in your pockets, do you know anything about them?”
“Ah!” said Passe Partout mentally, “he has read these papers, and
thinks he can catch me there, but I will outwit him.”
And then he added aloud:
“Do I know anything about them? I certainly do. You mean the papers
the brigands lost, and which I intended taking to the city police.”
“How did you get these papers?”
“We found them on the way, and having read them, were so anxious to
deliver them to the authorities, that we continued our journey at
night.”
“And the knives that were found on you?”
“The knives? we brought them to defend ourselves, for we had been told
there were robbers in this part of the country.”
“How and by whom were you and your companion wounded?”
“By robbers who came upon us without our seeing them.”
“Ah! Finot’s account is different from yours.”
“Finot is so frightened that he has lost his memory, you must not
credit what he says.”
“I do not believe what he says, any more than I believe what you
yourself tell me, friend Passe Partout, for I am well acquainted with
you, you have betrayed yourself.”
Passe Partout immediately perceived what a fool he had been in
recognizing his companion as Finot. It was a nickname given him at the
prison in derision of his lack of cunning.
As to Passe Partout, his real name was Partout. One day as they were
hurrying to the refectory, Finot exclaimed, “Passe Partout,” and the
name became a fixture. He could deny matters no longer, still he would
not confess; but shrugging his shoulders said:
“Because I am acquainted with Finot? It was no harm to suppose you
spoke of my companion. I thought you called him Finot in derision.”
“Well, that is good! twist that as you will; it is none the less
true, however, that you and your companion were journeying together
buying cider, that you found these papers on the road, read them,
and were carrying them to the town to put them in the hands of the
authorities—that you bought the knives to defend yourselves against
robbers, that you were attacked and wounded by these same robbers,—is
not that the story?”
“Yes, yes; that is, indeed, my account.”
“Say, rather, your tale; for your companion has told quite another
story.”
“What did he say?” anxiously inquired Passe Partout.
“It is not necessary for you to know just at present, but when you are
both in the convict prison he will tell you.”
And the officer went out of the room, leaving Passe Partout in a state
of rage and anxiety easily imagined.
“Do you think, doctor, that these men are able to walk to the town?”
inquired the officer of Doctor Tudoux.
“I think they can get there, if you do not urge them on too fast,”
responded Doctor Tudoux, slowly. “Moreover, should they even give out
on the way, you could easily send for a carriage and put them in it;
but they are badly kicked on the head, and might die in three or four
days.”
[Illustration: The officer on horseback rode beside the wagon.—(Page
235.)]
The officer was perplexed, for he was a kind man, and, although the
prisoners deserved no pity, he did not wish to make them suffer
unnecessarily. Mr. de Ponchat, father of William and Henry, seeing
his embarrassment, proposed to harness up one of our conveyances. His
offer was gratefully accepted, and, when the vehicle was brought to
the door, Finot and Passe Partout were put into it, each between two
guards. Moreover, their feet were tied to prevent their leaping out and
escaping, and the officer on horseback rode beside the wagon, never
losing sight of his prisoners. They soon disappeared, and I remained
alone before the house, eating grass and impatiently awaiting my little
masters, especially my dear James, whom I longed to see. I knew that
the service I had just rendered would secure their pardon for all past
misdeeds.
When, at last, it was a reasonable hour in the morning, and everyone
about the castle had arisen, dressed and breakfasted, a group rushed
down the front steps. It was the children. All ran to me and caressed
me to my heart’s content, but the caresses of none were so affectionate
or so dear to me as those of little James.
“My good Cadichon,” said he, “you have come back! I was so sorry when
you went away! You see my dear Cadichon, that we still love you!”
“He has really become good,” said Maud.
“And he has lost that insolent air he used to have,” said Beatrice.
“And he bites his comrade and the watch dogs, no longer,” said
Elizabeth.
“And he lets himself be saddled and bridled without trouble,” said
Louis.
Helen—“And he doesn’t eat the bouquets, I hold in my hand.”
Ruth—“And he doesn’t kick any more when we mount him.”
William—“And he doesn’t run after my pony any more to bite his tail.”
James—“And he has saved all our fruits and vegetables by causing the
arrest of these robbers.”
Henry—“And he has broken their hands with his feet.”
Elizabeth—“But how could he cause the arrest of the robbers?”
William—“We do not know all the particulars, but the household was
aroused by his brayings. Papa, my uncles and some servants went out,
and saw Cadichon galloping up and down from the house to the garden;
following him with lanterns till he came to the end of the wall around
the kitchen garden, they there found these two men, unconscious whom
they discovered to be robbers.”
James—“How could they tell these men were robbers? do not robbers look
and dress like us?”
Elizabeth—“Indeed they are not like us! I have seen a band of robbers,
they wore pointed hats, and chestnut colored mantles and they had such
wicked countenances and enormous mustaches.”
“Oh! where did you see them and when?” exclaimed all the children at
once.
Elizabeth—“I saw them, last winter, at the Franconia theatre.”
Henry—“Ah! ah! ah! What nonsense! I thought you meant real robbers,
that you had met in some of your travels, and I was astonished at never
having heard my uncle and aunt mention it.”
“Certainly, sir, they were real robbers,” answered Elizabeth quite
piqued, “the soldiers fought against them, and killed some and took
some prisoners. There was nothing funny about it; I was much frightened
and some of the poor soldiers were wounded.”
William—“Ah! ah! ah! how silly you are! you saw what we call a drama,
which is played by paid men, who repeat it every night.”
Elizabeth—“How can they repeat it when they are killed?”
William—“They only pretend to be killed or wounded, they are as sound
as you or I.”
Elizabeth—“How then did papa and my uncles know these men were robbers?”
William—“Because knives to kill people were found in their pockets,
and—”
“But those knives to kill people, how are they made?” interrupted James.
William—“Like—like, all other knives.”
James—“Then how could you tell that they were to kill people? Perhaps
they were to cut their bread?”
William—“You worry me James, you always want to understand everything,
and you interrupted me, just as I was going to tell you, that papers
were found on them, revealing their plans; it was all written down what
they were to do, steal our vegetables, and kill the priest and many
other people.”
James—“And why were they not going to kill us?”
Elizabeth—“Because they know papa and my uncles are very brave, that
they have pistols and guns, and also that we all would have helped.”
Henry—“You would be famous assistance, indeed, if any one were to
attack us.”
Elizabeth—“I would be as brave as you, sir, and I would know very well
how to pull the robbers by the legs to prevent their killing papa.”
Maud—“Come, come; don’t quarrel, but let William tell us what he heard.”
Elizabeth—“It is not necessary for William to tell us what we already
know.”
William—“Then why ask me how papa discovered that these men were
robbers?”
“Masters William and Henry, master Alfred wants you,” said the
gardener, who had just brought the vegetables for the kitchen.
“Where is he?” asked William and Henry.
“In the garden,” answered the gardener; “he dares not come to the
house, for fear of meeting Cadichon.”
I sighed, as I thought that poor Alfred feared me not without reason
since the sad day I had treated him so shamefully, almost drowning him
in a filthy ditch, after scratching him with briers and thorns, and
nibbling the pony’s tail until he was pitched over its head.
“I ought to make reparation,” said I; “what can I do, what service can
I render him to convince him that he has no longer any reason to fear
me?”
XXV.
THE REPARATION.
Whilst I vainly pondered a means of convincing Alfred of my repentance,
the children approached the spot where I browsed and meditated at the
same time. I saw that Alfred kept at a distance and regarded me with
mistrust.
William—“It is going to be warm to-day, and I don’t think it will be
pleasant to go far. It would be better for us to remain in the shady
park.”
Alfred—“William is right, I have never regained my strength since
that spell of sickness which nearly brought me to the grave, and
consequently I am very easily fatigued.”
Henry—“You must owe Cadichon a grudge, since he was the cause of your
illness.”
Alfred—“I do not believe he did it purposely, he was probably
frightened at something on the road, and jumped aside, accidentally
pitching me into that frightful ditch. So I do not hate him, but—”
William—“But what?”
“But,” said Alfred, blushing slightly, “I would rather not get on him
again.”
The poor boy’s generosity touched me, and increased my regret at having
treated him so badly.
Maud and Beatrice now proposed to do some cooking. The children had
built in their garden an oven, which they heated with dry wood,
gathering it themselves, and this proposition was joyfully received.
They ran to get kitchen aprons and returned to their garden prepared
for work. Alfred and William brought the wood; breaking each branch in
two, they filled their oven.
Before kindling the fire, they held a consultation as to what they
should have for breakfast.
“I wish an omelet,” said Maud.
Beatrice—“I, coffee and whipped cream.”
Elizabeth—“I, cutlets.”
William—“I, cold veal with vinegar sauce.”
Henry—“I, potato salad.”
James—“I, strawberries and cream.”
Louis—“I, slices of bread and butter.”
Helen—“I, grated sugar.”
Ruth—“And I, cherries.”
Alfred—“I will cut the bread, set the table, prepare the wine and
water, and help generally.”
And each one went to the kitchen to get materials for the desired dish.
Maud brought eggs, butter, salt, pepper, a fork and a frying pan.
[Illustration: Alfred and William brought the wood.—(Page 240.)]
“I must have some fire to melt my butter and cook my eggs,” said
she. “Alfred, Alfred, some fire, if you please.”
“Where must I kindle it?”
“Near the oven, be quick, I am beating my eggs.”
“Alfred, Alfred,” called out Beatrice, “run to the kitchen and get the
coffee for the whipped cream, I forgot it, be quick.”
“I must kindle the fire for Maud.”
“You can do that afterwards, run quick and get my coffee, now it will
not take you long, and I am in a hurry.”
Alfred started off in a run.
“Alfred, Alfred,” said Elizabeth, “I must have some embers and a
gridiron for my cutlets; I have cut them nicely.”
Alfred, who ran with the coffee, set out again for the gridiron.
“I must have oil for my vinegar sauce,” said William.
“And I, vinegar for my salad,” said Henry, “quick, Alfred with the oil
and vinegar.”
Alfred who had just brought the gridiron, returned for the vinegar and
oil.
“Oh! my fire!” said Maud, “is that how you light it, Alfred? My eggs
are beaten, you are going to make me lose my omelet.”
“My commissions have been so numerous, I have not had time to light the
fire.”
“And the coals?” cried Elizabeth, “where are you, Alfred? you have
forgotten my coals!”
“No, Elizabeth, I have not been able to get them, I have been kept
running.”
“Hurry, Alfred, or I shall not have time to broil my cutlets,” was the
reply.
“And I must have a knife to cut my slices of bread,” said Louis, “bring
a knife, quick, Alfred.”
“I have no sugar for my strawberries, grate the sugar, Helen, hurry,”
said James.
“I have grated till I am tired,” she answered, “I am going to rest a
little—I am so thirsty!”
“Eat some cherries,” said Ruth, “I am thirsty, too.”
“And so am I,” chimed in James, “I am going to taste a few to refresh
myself.”
“I shall do the same,” added Louis, “it is very fatiguing to cut bread.”
And the four little ones surrounded the basket of cherries.
“Let us sit down,” said Ruth, “it will be more convenient whilst
refreshing ourselves.”
They refreshed themselves so well that they ate every cherry. When the
basket was empty they looked anxiously at one another.
“They are all gone,” said Ruth.
“We are going to get scolded,” answered Helen.
“Oh! what shall we do?” inquired Louis, anxiously.
“Ask Cadichon to come to our aid,” said James.
“What do you want Cadichon to do?” replied Louis, “he cannot make
cherries appear in the basket when we have eaten them all!”
“He might do what amounts to the same,” said James. “Cadichon, my good
Cadichon, come to our aid, see this empty basket and try to fill it.”
I was very near the four little gourmands.
James put the empty basket under my nose to help me understand what
he wanted. I smelt it and started off in a trot; going to the kitchen
where I had seen some one take a basket of cherries, I seized the
basket between my teeth, trotted off with it and deposited it in the
midst of the children, still seated around the stones and stems in
their plates.
A cry of joy greeted my return. The others turned around at this and
inquired the meaning of it.
“It is Cadichon! Cadichon!” exclaimed James.
“Don’t tell,” said Ruth, “they will know then that we ate up the other
cherries.”
“Well, suppose they do know it,” answered James, “I wish them also to
know how kind and intelligent Cadichon is.”
And running to them, he told how I had repaired their greediness.
Instead of scolding the four little ones, they praised James’s
frankness and bestowed the highest eulogiums upon my intelligence.
Meanwhile Alfred had kindled Maud’s fire, and brought Elizabeth’s
coals; Maud cooked her omelet, Beatrice finished her cream, Elizabeth
her cutlets, William cut his veal in slices preparatory to making the
seasoning, Henry stirred and stirred his potato salad; James made a
mush of strawberries and cream, Louis cut a pile of buttered bread,
Helen grated sugar until the sugar bowl was empty, Ruth picked over the
basket of cherries, whilst Alfred breathless and in a perspiration,
set the table, ran for fresh water to cool the wine, and vessels of
radishes, cucumbers, sardines and olives to ornament the table. He had
forgotten the salt, he had not thought of the covers, glasses were
wanting, May bugs and gnats had fallen into the goblets and on plates.
When, at last, everything was ready and on the table, Maud, clapping
her hands to her forehead, exclaimed:
[Illustration]
“Ah! We have forgotten one thing, to ask our mammas’ permission to
breakfast out-doors on a meal of our own preparation.”
“Let us go at once,” was the unanimous answer; “Alfred will keep guard
over the breakfast.”
And, darting towards the house, they rushed into the parlor, where
their papas and mammas were assembled.
The sudden appearance of all these children, red, breathless, arrayed
in kitchen aprons like scullions, quite surprised their parents.
Each one ran to his or her mamma, and asked the required permission
with such volubility that, at first, it was impossible to know what
they meant. After a few questions and explanations, it was granted,
and they hastened back to Alfred and their breakfast. But Alfred had
disappeared.
“Alfred! Alfred!” they cried.
“Here I am, here I am,” answered a voice apparently from the skies.
Looking up, they perceived Alfred, perched in an oak tree. He began to
descend slowly and cautiously.
“What made you climb up there?” said William and Henry; “what a strange
idea that was!”
Alfred made no reply, but continued to get down, and when he had
reached the ground the children were surprised to see him pale and
trembling.
“Why did you climb that tree, Alfred? what has happened to you?” said
Beatrice.
“If it had not been for Cadichon, you would not have found me or your
breakfast either; I climbed the oak tree to save my life.”
“Do tell us what has happened!” said William; “how could Cadichon save
your life and our breakfast?”
“Let us take our places at the table and listen whilst we eat, I am
dying of hunger,” said Maud.
They seated themselves on the grass, around the table-cloth; Maud
helped to her omelet, which was excellent; and Elizabeth, in turn,
to her cutlets, which were very nice, but cooked a little too much.
The rest of the breakfast followed, everything turning out quite
satisfactorily. Whilst they ate, Alfred recounted the following:
“You had scarcely started ere the two big farm dogs, attracted by
the smell of food, came running to the spot. I seized a stick, and,
brandishing it before them, tried to drive them off, but in vain; they
could not resist the sight of the cutlets, the omelet, the bread,
the butter, the cream; instead of flying from my stick, which they
little feared, they rushed at me; I threw the stick at the head of the
biggest, and it jumped on my back—”
“How could it jump on your back?” said Henry; “he went behind you, did
he?”
“No,” said Alfred, blushing; “but, having thrown my stick at him, I had
no means of defense, and you can certainly understand the folly of my
letting myself be devoured by hungry dogs.”
“Oh! I understand now,” replied Henry in a tone of raillery, “it was
you who turned upon your heel to escape.”
[Illustration: The other dog leaped at me.—(Page 251.)]
“I was running to find you and the beasts were running after me,
when Cadichon came to my assistance. Seizing the biggest dog by the
skin of the back, he shook him well, whilst I sought safety by climbing
a tree. The other dog leaped at me, caught me by my clothes, and would
have torn me to pieces, had not Cadichon rescued me from this animal
also. Giving a good final bite to the first dog, and throwing him up in
the air whence he fell a few steps farther off, bruised and bleeding,
Cadichon now seized the tail of the dog that held me, which act freed
me at once, for, of course, my assailant immediately relinquished his
hold. After pulling him a little distance, Cadichon turned around with
incredible agility, and gave him a kick on the jaw bone that must have
broken several teeth. The two dogs went off yelping, and I was about to
descend when you came.”
All admired my courage and presence of mind, and came up to me, loading
me with caresses and praises.
“You see now for yourselves,” said James, with a triumphant air and
sparkling eyes, “that my friend Cadichon has become excellent, I don’t
know whether you care for him or not, but I do more than ever. We will
always be the best of friends, won’t we Cadichon?”
I did my best to respond with a joyful bray; the children laughed and
resuming their seats at the table, continued their repast. Beatrice now
served her cream.
“That’s good cream!” said James.
“I wish some more,” said Louis.
“And I, and I,” cried Helen and Ruth. Beatrice was much pleased with
her success. Indeed, every dish had given such satisfaction, that
the table was entirely cleared. Poor James, however, had a slight
humiliation. His charge was the strawberries and cream. He had sugared
his cream and poured it over the stemmed strawberries, making a very
nice looking dish. Unfortunately for him, he finished before the
others. Seeing there was plenty of time, he concluded to improve it and
his dish together, by mashing the berries in the cream. He crushed and
he crushed, so long and so well, that the result was a thick pap, quite
nice to the taste, but very uninviting in appearance.
Then James’s turn arrived to serve the strawberries.
“Oh! what are you giving me,” exclaimed Maud, “what is it? red pap?
What is it made of?”
“It is not red pap,” answered James somewhat confused, “it is
strawberries and cream, and very nice, I assure you, Maud; taste it,
and you will see.”
“Strawberries?” said Beatrice, “where are the strawberries? I see none.
This stuff looks disgusting.”
“Oh! yes, it is disgusting,” echoed all the rest.
“I thought they would be nicer crushed,” said poor little James, his
eyes full of tears. “But if you wish it, I will go quickly and pick
some more strawberries, and get some cream from the house.”
“No, no, James,” said Elizabeth, touched at his gentleness, “your
cream is, no doubt, very nice. Give me some, I will eat it with great
pleasure.”
James’s face brightened, he kissed Elizabeth and helped her most
bountifully.
The other children, softened like Elizabeth by James’s mildness
and good will, asked for some of his dish, and all, after tasting,
pronounced it excellent, much better indeed than if the berries had
been whole.
Little James, who had been anxiously watching their countenances as
they tasted his cream, became radiant when he saw the success of his
invention; he partook of it himself, and although not much remained for
him, there was enough to make him regret not having made more.
Breakfast over, they washed the dishes in a large tub, that had been
accidentally left out, and filled during the night from the rainspout.