WARNED OF GOD IN A DREAM.
And now a strange thing happened to Cecile, something which shows, I
think, very plainly how near the heavenly Guide really was to His
little wandering lamb.
After nearly a week spent on the road M. Dupois' wagons reached Paris
in perfect safety, and then Anton, according to his promise, took the
three children and their dog to lodge with a friend of his.
M. Dupois' steward made no objection to this arrangement, for Anton
seemed a most steady and respectable man, and the children had all made
great friends with him.
Chuckling inwardly, Anton led his little charges to a part of Paris
called the Cite. This was where the very poor lived, and Anton guessed
it would best suit his purpose. The houses were very old and shabby,
most of them consisting of only two stories, though a few could even
boast of four. These wretched and dirty houses were quite as bad as any
London slums. Little particular Maurice declared he did not like the
nasty smells, but on Anton informing Cecile that lodgings would be very
cheap here, she made up her mind to stay for at least a night. Anton
took the children up to the top of one of the tallest of the houses.
Here were two fair-sized rooms occupied by an old man and woman. The
man was ill and nearly blind, the woman was also too aged and infirm to
work. She seemed, however, a good-natured old soul, and told Joe--for,
of course, she did not understand a word of English--that she had lost
five children, but though they were often almost starving, she could
never bring herself to sell these little ones' clothes--she now pointed
to them hanging on five peg--on the wall. The old couple had a grandson
aged seventeen. This boy, thin and ragged as he was, had a face full of
fun and mischief. "He picks up odd jobs, and so we manage to live,"
said the old woman to Joe.
Both she and her husband were glad to take the children in, and
promised to make them comfortable--which they did, after a fashion.
"We can stay here one night. We shall be quite rested and able to go on
down south to-morrow, Joe," said Cecile.
And Joe nodded, inwardly resolving that one night in such quarters
should be all they should spend. For he felt that though of course
Anton knew nothing about the existence of the purse, yet, that had it
been known, it would not be long in Cecile's possession were she to
remain there.
Poor Joe! he little guessed that Anton had heard and understood every
word of Cecile's English, and was making up his mind just as firmly as
Joe. His intention was that not one of that little band should leave
the purlieus of the Cite until that purse with its precious contents
was his.
The old couple, however, were really both simple and honest. They had
no accommodation that night for Anton; consequently, for that first
night Cecile's treasure was tolerably free from danger.
And now occurred that event which I must consider the direct
intervention of the Guide Jesus on Cecile's behalf. This event was
nothing more nor less than a dream. Now anyone may dream. Of all the
common and unimportant things under the sun, dreams in our present day
rank as the commonest, the most unimportant. No one thinks about
dreams. People, if they have got any reputation for wisdom, do not even
care to mention them. Quite true, but there are dreams and dreams; and
I still hold to my belief that Cecile's dream was really sent to her
direct from heaven.
For instance, there never was a more obstinate child than Cecile
D'Albert. Once get an idea or a resolve firmly fixed in her ignorant
and yet wise little head, and she would cling to it for bare life. Her
dead stepmother's directions were as gospel to the little girl, and one
of her directions was to keep the purse at all hazards. Not any amount
of wise talking, not the most clear exposition of the great danger she
ran in retaining it, could have moved her. She really loved Joe. But
Joe's words would have been as nothing to her, had he asked her to
transfer the precious leather purse to his care. And yet a dream
converted Cecile, and induced her to part with her purse without any
further difficulty. Lying on a heap of straw by Maurice's side, Cecile
dreamt in that vivid manner which makes a vision of the night so real.
Jesus the Guide came into the room. It was no longer a man or a woman,
or even a kind boy sent by Him. No, no, He came Himself. He came
radiant and yet human, with a face something as Cecile imagined her own
mother's face, and He said, "Lovedy's gold is in danger, it is no
longer safe with you. Take it to-morrow to the Faubourg St. G----.
There is an English lady there. Her name will be on the door of a
house. Ask to see her. She will be at home. Give her Lovedy's money to
keep for her. The money will be quite safe then."
Immediately after this extraordinary dream Cecile awoke, nor could she
close her eyes again that night. The Faubourg St. G---- kept dancing
before her eyes. She seemed to see a shabby suburb, and then a long and
rather narrow street, and when her eyes were quite weary with all the
strange French names, there came a plain unmistakable English name, and
Cecile felt that the lady who bore this name must be the caretaker of
the precious purse for the present. Yes, she must go to the Faubourg
St. G----. She must find it without delay. Cecile believed in her dream
most fervently. She was quite sure there was such a part of the great
city--there was such a lady. Had not Jesus the Guide come Himself to
tell her to go to her?
Cecile, reading her New Testament for the first time, had vivid
memories about its wonderful stories. What, alas! is often hackneyed to
older and so-called wiser folks, came with power to the little child.
Cecile was not surprised that she should be told what to do in a dream.
The New Testament was full of accounts of people who were warned of God
in a dream. She, too, had been sent this divine warning. Nothing should
prevent her acting upon it. In the morning she resolved to tell Joe all
about her vision, and then ask him to take her without delay to the
English lady who lived in the Faubourg St. G----. But when she got up
no Joe was visible, and the old woman managed to convey to her that he
had gone out to make some inquiries about their journey south, and
would not be back for some hours. She then poured out a decoction which
she called coffee and gave it to the children, and Cecile drank it off,
wondering, as she did so, how she, who did not know a word of French,
could find her way alone to the Faubourg St. G----. As she thought, she
raised her eyes and encountered the fixed, amused, and impudent gaze of
the old woman's grandson. This lad had taken a fancy to Cecile and
Maurice from the first. He now sat opposite to them as they ate. His
legs were crossed under him, his hands were folded across his breast.
He stared hard. He did nothing but stare. But this occupation seemed to
afford him the fullest content.
Maurice said, "Nasty rude man," and shook his hand at him.
But Pericard, not understanding a single word of English, only laughed,
and placidly continued his amusement.
Suddenly a thought came to Cecile:
"Pericard," she said, "Faubourg St. G----."
Pericard nodded, and looked intelligent.
"Oui," he answered, "Faubourg St. G----."
Cecile then got up, took his hand, and pointed first to the window then
to the door. Then she touched herself and Maurice, and again said:
"Faubourg St. G----."
Pericard nodded again. He understood her perfectly.
"Oui, oui, Mam'selle," he said, and now he took Cecile's hand, and
Cecile took Maurice's, and they went down into the street. They had
only turned a corner, when Anton came up to the lodging. The old woman
could but inform him that the children had gone out with Pericard. That
she did not know when they would be back. That Joe also had gone away
quite early.
Anton felt inclined to swear. He had made a nice little plan for this
morning. He had sent Joe away on purpose. There was nothing now for it
but to wait the children's return, as it would be worse than useless to
pursue them over Paris. He only hoped, as he resigned himself to his
fate, that they would return before Joe did.