A GOOD FRIEND IN NEED.
Madame Pradère, the Mayor's wife, regarded Nadine with deep interest.
Although she had much to occupy her time and thoughts that morning, the
situation the young girl had so simply disclosed was so unusual as to
command her attention to the exclusion of other concerns.
Nadine seemed no less modest and refined than she was pretty, and her
big blue eyes, which contrasted strangely with her black and curly
hair, bore so sweet an expression that she must manifestly be something
altogether different from the strolling players with their bold hard
looks, rough voices, and shabby finery, which were wont to come to
the village. Dressed plainly in a black calico gown, and having a
thin black shawl over her head, she certainly had every appearance of
simplicity and honesty. She was undoubtedly poor, but her poverty was
of that proud kind which does not seek to inspire pity, but bravely
fends for itself, asking alms of nobody.
"My child," said Madame Pradère, in a tone so full of kindness
that Nadine's heart grew warm, and she felt that the way out of her
difficulties was beginning to open, "the Mayor has not returned, and
may not be back for a while yet; but however busy he may be he shall
spare you a minute, and if he thinks it all right he'll grant you the
permission you seek. Come with me," she added signing to Nadine to
follow her. "You can wait for him in another room, for the kitchen is
in confusion, and you may be in the way of the servants, who have a
great deal to do."
Nadine followed Madame Pradère into a little parlor tastefully
furnished, where there were ever so many pretty things that called
forth her admiration.
But she had too much sense to betray any indiscreet curiosity. Seating
herself upon the chair the mistress of the house indicated, she made
haste to express her gratitude.
"You are very kind, Madame, very kind indeed," she murmured.
"Not at all, my child, not at all," was the response. "But now tell me,
you seek permission from the Mayor to stay here a while in order to
sell some little articles I presume?"
"No, Madame. We have nothing to sell," replied Nadine, gaining courage
from the good lady's gentle manner. "We are only strolling performers
who give public representations with our animals."
"Oh! ho! you have animals! Trained dogs, I suppose, and that sort of
thing," and Madame's comely countenance expressed an amused interest.
"We have only one dog, Vigilant, who is very comical. He knows how to
make the most morose people laugh when he plays his part with Nalla."
Nadine's eyes brightened at the thought of her dog.
"Nalla! and pray who is Nalla?"
"Madame," answered Nadine, her face growing serious again, "Nalla is
our breadwinner. He is the chief attraction of our troupe, for you can
easily understand that such mere children as we are daren't pretend to
be of much account as performers. In us by ourselves the public would
take very little interest, and we couldn't get along at all. But when
we exhibit Nalla in all the streets, and make our announcements from
his back, curiosity is aroused, and the people come in the evening to
see our big creature's performance."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Madame Pradère, looking puzzled. "Your
big creature! Is not Nalla, then, a dog like Vigilant?"
"Oh, no," cried Nadine, smiling, and fully appreciating the interest
she was creating. "Nalla isn't a dog. Nalla couldn't get into this
big house, Nalla"--and she paused a moment so as to emphasize the
announcement, "Nalla is an elephant!"
"An elephant, do you say? Is it possible? How do you happen to own so
costly an animal? Why, it must be worth a small fortune!" And as she
poured out these questions Madame Pradère scrutinized the girl with
a certain air of perplexity, for to her the idea of possessing an
elephant seemed hardly consistent with actual poverty.
Nadine understood the look, and her pale cheek flushed slightly.
"I told you, Madame, Nalla is our breadwinner," she said with a touch
of apology in her tone. "But he is also more than that. He is our
protector since our father died."
Madame Pradère's expression at once changed to one of sympathy.
"Is it long since you lost your parents?" she asked, adding with a
kindly smile: "I may seem to be very inquisitive, but the fact is you
interest me deeply, and I would like you to tell me your history. In
the first place, what is your name?"
"Here are my papers, Madame," responded Nadine, holding out an old
portfolio carefully wrapped up in a bit of silk. "They will tell you
all about me."
"Oh no," said the Mayoress, gently pushing back the portfolio. "You can
show that presently to my husband, but for myself I prefer to hear your
story from your own lips."
Thus encouraged Nadine proceeded in her own clear simple way.
"My name is Nadine Tamby. My elder brother bears the same name as was
my father's, Cæsar. The second boy is named Abel, and my little sister,
who is now just six years old, has our mother's name, Lydia."
At the mention of the name of Lydia Madame Pradère's countenance
suddenly grew sad, and she gave a sigh that indicated sorrowful
memories. In truth it had been the name of a little daughter that once
brought joy into her life for a while, and then was taken from her,
leaving a void that could never be filled.
Nadine meanwhile continued her narration.
"Our mother died four years ago when we were in the Tyrol, but it is
only six months since we lost our father. He died of consumption after
being sick for a long time."
Nadine's voice sank so low as to be scarcely audible, and the big tears
moistened her cheeks so that she was fain to wipe them away with her
handkerchief. Her parents had always been good and kind, and the pain
of their loss was still acute.
"You poor little woman!" murmured Madame Pradère, in whose own eyes the
tears were glistening, "and you are the little mother to the others
now."
She was more deeply moved by what she had heard than she cared to show,
and in order to conceal her emotion she continued to ply Nadine with
questions which the latter answered so clearly and correctly that the
Mayoress could not understand a young strolling player being so well
educated.
Had she only known the girl's parents she would not have been so
puzzled. Cæsar Tamby and his wife were of respectable descent, and had
always been true to their parentage in spite of the many temptations
to which their mode of life exposed them. They had brought their
children up with the utmost care possible in view of their roving life,
and during the winter season, when it was not possible to give their
performances, they had taken pains to teach them quite as much as they
would have learned by attending the country school, for they were both
well educated themselves.
Thus the Tamby children, although their business was appearing in
public and giving performances to crowds that too often were by no
means considerate of their feelings, nevertheless remained honest,
simple, and refined in a remarkable degree.
"And your father," continued Madame Pradère, "was he always--" here
she hesitated a moment, and then finished the sentence with the polite
word--"an artist?"
"Yes, Madame," replied Nadine. "His father was the manager of a circus
in which he employed his five sons, of whom my father was the youngest.
But on the death of my grandfather, and a series of misfortunes which
followed it, the circus was broken up and everything sold with the
exception of Nalla, and Steady, which fell to my father."
"Steady!" exclaimed Madame Pradère. "Who is that? I know Nalla and
Vigilant, but you haven't mentioned Steady before. Is he a clever
animal like Nalla, or a comic one like Vigilant?"
"He is an animal that is as gentle as a sheep, and as good as can be,"
smiled Nadine. "Steady is an old horse, who was once upon a time
quite a celebrity, but who having become very old, a little deaf, and
somewhat blind, is now fit only to drag the van, which is our home on
wheels. All the same he is a very true friend, and we love him dearly
for he does us good service. Steady was given his name by my mother
who was an _equestrienne_, and who always mounted him with confidence
because his regular movements made her performance so easy. And now,
Madame," Nadine concluded with a naïve smile of apology for having
talked so much, "I've told you about our whole family."
Just then Madame Pradère heard the sound of a carriage rolling into the
courtyard. She sprang up briskly and looked out of the window.
"That's the Mayor returning!" she said. "Wait here a few minutes while
I speak to him about you," and giving the girl an encouraging smile,
she left the room.
It was, indeed, the Mayor, accompanied by several officers who had been
invited to lunch with him. These were former companions of M. Pradère,
who had once been a lieutenant in the army, and had retired upon making
a brilliant marriage, which rendered him independent. So there were
great doings in the chateau.
Nadine with much concern heard the clinking of the swords, and the
most appetizing smell of the extra cooking reminded her that the Tamby
children had not yet had any breakfast that day, while the permission
to perform that she had come to obtain was still in doubt. If it were
not granted there was a poor prospect of food for either the family or
their animals. Oppressed by these disturbing thoughts she sat there in
an attitude of deep dejection.
She was a young thing to be charged with such heavy responsibilities,
and not a day passed that she did not keenly feel her youth and
weakness. Yet before the other children her brave spirit never seemed
to flag, or her resolution to falter. As she had to be both mother and
father to them, she strove gallantly to fill her difficult part to the
very best of her powers, and in truth it was nothing short of wonderful
how well she succeeded. Still there were times when it seemed as if her
burdens were becoming too heavy to be longer borne by her.
Meanwhile Madame Pradère had conducted her guests into the big
dining-room which opened upon a spacious veranda whence there spread a
broad green lawn reaching to the river's edge.
When all were seated at the table she turned to her husband with a
bewitching smile, and said:
"Your worship, I have a great favor to ask of you."
"Madame, that favor is granted in advance of its being asked," replied
her husband with a gallant bow, and a look of unmistakable pride and
affection, for his wife was a beautiful woman, and greatly admired by
all who knew her.
"And my request applies to Colonel Laurier as well as to you,"
continued Madame, fixing her fine eyes upon the officer, who at once
bowed in his turn, and hastened to say:
"I assure you, Madame, it will give me great pleasure to do anything
you wish."
"I understand, Colonel," Madame went on after acknowledging his prompt
assurance with a gracious smile, "that your soldiers have taken
complete possession of the market-place."
"They have, Madame," responded the Colonel, considerably puzzled to
guess what she was driving at. "There are so many of them, you know,
that they require a lot of room."
"Yes, of course, I quite understand that," said Madame, her handsome
features expressive of a gay resolution that was immensely becoming.
"But do you know I shall need a part of the place this evening for a
very fine performance, and I suppose you will be able to make room for
the time."
Colonel Laurier was about to accede at once when the Mayor broke in
hurriedly, and not altogether politely:
"Those mountebanks again! Have you them in your mind, my dear? But it
is simply out of the question to-day. I could not think of granting
them permission to perform in the market-place. You forget that there
are two thousand soldiers there, and that it is my duty to guard
against the occurrence of any trouble."
"That is the very reason I am doing this, your worship, and why the
assistance of Colonel Laurier and his officers will be so helpful,"
persisted Madame, flashing her irresistible smiles from one to the
other.
"Pray command us. We are certainly at your service," responded the
officers in chorus.