AN ESCAPE.
It was very late, in fact quite night, when Pericard returned. By this
time the rats had come out in troops, and even Toby could scarcely keep
them at bay. He barked, however, loudly, and ran about, and so kept
them from absolutely attacking the children. By this, however, he
exposed them to another danger, for his noise must soon have been heard
in the street above, and it was well for them that the cellar in which
they were hiding was not in the same house with Anton.
It was, as I said, quite late at night when Pericard arrived. He let
himself in, not by the entrance through which he had come previously,
but by the underground passage. He carried a dark lantern in one hand,
and a neat little basket in the other. Never was knight of old more
eagerly welcomed than was this French boy now by the poor little
prisoners. They were all cold and hungry, and the rushing and scraping
of the rats had filled their little hearts with most natural alarm.
Pericard came in softly, and laying down his dark lantern proceeded to
unpack the contents of the basket. It contained cold sausages, broken
bits of meat, and some rolls buttered and cut in two: there was also a
pint bottle of _vin ordinaire_.
Pericard broke the neck of the bottle on the cellar wall. He then gave
the children a drink by turns in a little tin mug.
"And now," he said in French, "we must be off. Anton is in the house;
he is waiting for you all; he is roaring with anger and rage; he would
be out looking for you, but luckily--or you could not escape--he is
lame. The brave good dog bit him severely in the leg, and now he cannot
walk; and the grandmere has to poultice his leg. He thinks I have gone
to fetch you, for I pretend to be on his side. You have just to-night
to get away in; but I don't answer for the morning, for Anton is so
dying to get hold of Joe there that he will use his leg, however he
suffers, after to-night. You have just this one short night in which to
make your escape."
Then Joe told Cecile's plan to Pericard, and Pericard nodded, and said
it was good--only he could not help opening his eyes very widely at the
idea of three such little beggars, as he termed the children, being
able to afford the luxury of going by train. As, however, it was
impossible and, dangerous to confide in him any further, and as Cecile
had already given Joe the number of francs they thought they should
require out of her frock, he had to bear his curiosity in silence.
Pericard, who was well up to Paris, and knew not only every place of
amusement, nearly every stall-owner, nearly every trade, and every
possible way of securing a sou, but also had in his head a fund of odd
knowledge with regard to railway stations, could now counsel the
children what station to go to, and even what train to take on their
way south.
He said they would probably be in time if they started at once to catch
a midnight train to Orleans; that for not too large a sum they might
travel third-class to Orleans, which city they would reach the next
morning. It was a large place, and as it would be impossible for Anton
to guess that they had gone by train at all, they would have such a
good start of him that he would probably not be able to find them again.
Pericard also proposed that they should start at once, and as they had
no money to spare for cabs or omnibuses, they must walk to the distant
terminus from which they must start for the south. How strange they
felt as they walked through the gayly-lighted streets! How tired was
Maurice! how delighted Joe! how dreamy and yet calm and trustful, was
Cecile. Since the vision about her purse, her absolute belief in her
Guide knew no bounds.
As near and dear, as certain and present, was He now to Cecile as if in
reality he was holding her little hand; as if in reality He was
carrying tired Maurice. He was there, the Goal was certain, the End
sure. When they got to the great big terminus she still felt dreamlike,
allowing Joe and Pericard to get their tickets and make all
arrangements. Then the children and dog found themselves in a
third-class compartment. Toby was well and skillfully hidden under the
seat, the whistle sounded, and Pericard came close and took Cecile's
hand. She was only a little child, but she was his princess, the first
sweet and lovely thing he had ever seen. Cecile raised her lips to kiss
him.
"Good-by, Pericard--good Pericard--faithful Pericard."
Then the train pulled slowly out of the station, and the children were
carried into the unknown darkness, and Pericard went home. He never saw
the children again. But all through his after-life he carried a memory
about with him of them, and when he heard of the good God and the
angels, this wild Paris lad would cross himself devoutly, and think of
Cecile.