THE FAUBOURG ST. G----.
Pericard was a genuine French lad. Perhaps few boys had undergone more
hardships in his life; he had known starvation, he had known blows, he
had felt in their extremity both winter's cold and summer's heat. True,
his old grandmother gave him what she could, both of love and kindness.
But the outside world had been decidedly rough on Pericard. An English
boy would have shown this on his face. He would have appeared careworn,
he would scarcely have seemed gay. Very far otherwise, however, was it
with this French lad. His merry eyes twinkled continually. He laughed,
he whistled, he danced. His misfortunes seemed to have no power to
enter into him; they only swept around.
Had he then a shallow heart? Who can tell? He was a genuine specimen of
the ordinary Paris gamin.
Pericard now much enjoyed the idea of taking Cecile and Maurice out to
the rather distant suburb called the Faubourg St. G----.
He knew perfectly how to get there. He knew that Cecile, who understood
no French wanted to find herself there. He understood nothing, and
cared less for what her object was in going there.
He was to be her guide. He would lead her safely to this faubourg, and
then back again to his grandmother's house.
Pericard, for all his rags, had something of a gentleman's heart.
He enjoyed guiding this very fair and pretty little lady.
Of course, Maurice and Toby came too. But Cecile was Pericard's
princess on this occasion.
As they walked along, it occurred to him how very pleasant it would be
to treat his princess--to buy a dainty little breakfast from one or
more of the venders who spread their tempting condiments on different
stalls, as they passed. He might purchase some fruit, some chocolate, a
roll, some butter. Then! how good these things would be, shared between
him and the princess, and, of course, the little brother and the good
dog, and eaten in that same faubourg, where the air must be a little
better, purer than in Paris proper. If only he had the necessary sous?
Alas! he only possessed one centime, and that would buy no dainties
worth mentioning.
As the funny little group walked along, Pericard steering straight and
clear in the right direction, they saw an old Jew clothesman walking
just in front of them. There was nothing particular about this old
fellow. He was, doubtless, doing as lucrative a trade in Paris as
elsewhere. But, nevertheless, Pericard's bright eyes lighted up at
sight of him.
He felt hastily once again in his ragged coat; there rested his one
centime. Nodding to Cecile and Maurice, and making signs that he would
return instantly, he rushed after the old Jew--tore his coat from his
back, and offered it for sale.
It was an old garment, greasy and much worn, but the lining was still
good, and, doubtless, it helped to keep Pericard warm. Intent, however,
now on the trick he meant to play, he felt no cold.
The old Jew salesman, who never _on principle_ rejected the possible
making of even a few sous, stopped to examine the shabby article. In
deliberation as to its age, etc., he contrived also to feel the
condition of its pockets. Instantly, as the boy hoped, he perceived the
little piece of money. His greedy old face lit up. After thinking a
moment, he offered one franc for the worthless garment.
Pericard could not part with it for a franc. Then he offered two.
Pericard stuck out for three. He would give the greasy and ragged old
coat for three francs. The Jew felt the pocket again. It was a large
sum to risk for what in itself was not worth many sous; but, then, he
might not have such a chance again. Finally, he made up his mind, and
put three francs into Pericard's eager hand.
Instantly the old fellow pounced upon his hidden treasure. Behold! a
solitary--a miserable centime. His rage knew no bounds! He called it an
infamous robbery! He shouted to Pericard to take back his rags!
Whistling and laughing, the French boy exclaimed: "Pas si bete!" and
then returned to the children.
Now, indeed, was Pericard happy. He nodded most vigorously to Cecile.
He showed her his three francs. He tossed them in the air. He spun them
before him on the dirty road. It seemed wonderful that he did not lose
his treasures. Finally, after indulging in about six somersaults in
succession, he deposited the coins in his mouth, and became grave after
his own fashion again.
Now must he and the English children, for such he believed them, have
the exquisite delight of spending this precious money. They turned into
a street which resembled more an ordinary market than a street. Here
were provisions in abundance; here were buyers and sellers; here was
food of all descriptions. Each vender of food had his own particular
stall, set up under his own particular awning. Pericard seemed to know
the place well. Maurice screamed with delight at the sight of so much
delicious food, and even patient Toby licked his chops, and owned to
himself that their morning's breakfast had been very scanty.
Cecile alone--too intent on her mission to be hungry--felt little
interest in the tempting stalls.
Pericard, however, began to lay in provisions judiciously. Here in this
Rue de Sevres, were to be bought fruit, flowers, vegetables of all
kinds, butter, cheese, cream, and even fish.
"Bonjour, Pere Bison," said Pericard, who, feeling himself rich, made
his choice with care and deliberation.
This old man sold turkey eggs, cream-cheese, and butter. Pericard
purchased a tiny piece of deliciously fresh-looking butter, a small
morsel of cream-cheese, and three turkey eggs; at another stall he
bought some rolls; at a third a supply of fresh and rosy apples. Thus
provided, he became an object of immense attraction to Toby, and, it
must be owned, also to Maurice.
As they walked along, in enforced silence, Pericard indulged in
delicious meditations. What a moment that would be when they sucked
those turkeys eggs! how truly delightful to see his dainty little
princess enjoying her morsel of cream-cheese!
At last, after what seemed an interminable time, they reached the
faubourg dreamed of so vividly the night before by Cecile. It was a
large place, and also a very poor neighborhood.
Having arrived at their destination. Pericard pointed to the name on a
lamp-post, spreading out his arms with a significant gesture; then,
letting them drop to his sides, stood still. His object was
accomplished. He now waited impatiently for the moment when they might
begin their feast.
Cecile felt a strange fluttering at her heart; the place was so large,
the streets so interminable. Where, how, should she find the lady with
the English name?
Pericard was now of no further use. He must follow where she led. She
walked on, her steps flagging--despondency growing at her heart.
Was her dream then not real after all? Ah, yes! it must, it must be a
Heaven-sent warning. Was not Joseph warned of God in a dream? Was he
not told where to go and what to do?--just as Cecile herself had been
told by the blessed Lord Himself. Only an angel had come to Joseph, but
Jesus Himself had counseled Cecile. Yes, she was now in the
faubourg--she must presently find the lady bearing the English name.
The Faubourg St. G---- was undoubtedly a poor suburb, but just even
when Pericard's patience began to give way, the children saw a row of
houses taller and better than any they had hitherto come across. The
English lady must live there. Cecile again, with renewed hope and
confidence, walked down the street. At the sixth house she stopped, and
a cry of joy, of almost rapture, escaped her lips. Amid all the
countless foreign words and names stood a modest English one on a neat
door painted green. In the middle of a shining brass plate appeared two
very simple, very common words--_"Miss Smith."_