MARAUCOURT AT LAST
Things came to pass as La Rouquerie had arranged. For eight days Perrine
ran through the streets of the villages and towns crying out: "Rabbit
skins! Rags! Bones!"
"You've got a voice that would make yer famous for this here business,"
said La Rouquerie admiringly, as Perrine's clear treble was heard in the
streets. "If yer'd stay with me you'd be doin' me a service and yer
wouldn't be unhappy. You'd make a livin'. Is it a go?"
"Oh, thank you, but it's not possible," replied Perrine.
Finding that the reasons she advanced were not sufficient to induce
Perrine to stay with her, La Rouquerie put forth another:
"And yer wouldn't have to leave Palikare."
This was a great grief, but Perrine had made up her mind.
"I must go to my relations; I really must," she said.
"Did your relatives save yer life, like that there donkey?" insisted La
Rouquerie.
"But I promised my mother."
"Go, then, but you see one fine day you'll be sorry yer didn't take what
I offered yer p'raps."
"You are very kind and I shall always remember you."
When they reached Creil, La Rouquerie hunted up her friend, the farmer,
and asked him to give Perrine a lift in his cart as far as Amiens. He
was quite willing, and for one whole day Perrine enjoyed the comfort of
lying stretched out on the straw, behind two good trotting horses. At
Essentaux she slept in a barn.
The next day was Sunday, and she was up bright and early and quickly
made her way to the railway station. Handing her five francs to the
ticket seller she asked for a ticket to Picquigny. This time she had the
satisfaction of seeing that her five francs was accepted. She received
her ticket and seventy-five cents in change.
It was 12 o'clock when the train pulled in at the station at Picquigny.
It was a beautiful, sunny morning, the air was soft and warm, far
different from the scorching heat which had prostrated her in the woods,
and she ... how unlike she was from that miserable little girl who had
fallen by the wayside. And she was clean, too. During the days she had
spent with La Rouquerie she had been able to mend her waist and her
skirt, and had washed her linen and shined her shoes. Her past
experience was a lesson: she must never give up hope at the darkest
moment; she must always remember that there was a silver cloud, if she
would only persevere.
She had a long walk after she got out of the train at Picquigny. But
she walked along lightly past the meadows bordered with poplars and
limes, past the river where the villagers in their Sunday clothes were
fishing, past the windmills which, despite the fact that the day was
calm, were slowly moving round, blown by the breeze from the sea which
could be felt even there.
She walked through the pretty village of St. Pipoy, with its red roofs
and quaint church, and over the railway tracks which unites the towns
wherein Vulfran Paindavoine has his factories, and which joins the main
line to Boulogne.
As Perrine passed the pretty church the people were coming out from
mass. Listening to them as they talked in groups she heard again the
sing-song manner of talking that her father had often imitated so as to
amuse her.
On the country road she saw a young girl walking slowly ahead of her
carrying a very heavy basket on her arm.
"Is this the way to Maraucourt?" Perrine asked.
"Yes, this road ... quite straight."
"Quite straight," said Perrine laughing, "it isn't so very straight after
all."
"If you are going to Maraucourt, I'm going there too, and we could go
together," suggested the girl.
"I will if you'll let me help you carry your basket," said Perrine with a
smile.
"I won't say no to that, for it's sure heavy!"
The girl put her basket on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief.
"You don't belong to Maraucourt, do you?" asked the girl.
"No, do you?"
"Sure I do."
"Do you work in the factories?"
"Should say so, everybody does here."
"How much do they pay?"
"Ten sous."
"And is it hard work?"
"Not very; but you have to have a sharp eye and not waste time. Do you want
to get in there?"
"Yes, if they'd have me."
"Should say they would have you; they take anybody. If they didn't how do
you think they'd get the seven thousand hands they've got. Just be there
tomorrow morning at 6 o'clock at the gate. We must hurry now or I'll be
late. Come on."
She took the handle of the basket on one side and Perrine took it on the
other side and they set out on the road, keeping in step down the middle.
Here was an opportunity for Perrine to learn what held interest for her. It
was too good for her not to seize it. But she was afraid to question this
girl openly. She must put the questions she wanted answered in a way that
would not arouse her suspicions.
"Were you born at Maraucourt?" she began.
"Sure, I'm a native and my mother was too, my father came from Picquigny."
"Have you lost them?"
"Yes, I live with my grandmother who keeps a grocer store and restaurant.
She's Madame Francoise."
"Ah! Madame Francoise."
"What! do you know her?"
"No, I just said, 'Ah, Madame Francoise.'"
"She's known everywhere for her 'eats' and 'cause she was nurse to Monsieur
Edmond Paindavoine. Whenever the men want to ask the boss, Monsieur Vulfran
Paindavoine, for anything, they get my grandmother to ask for them."
"Does she always get what they want?"
"Sometimes yes, sometimes no; Monsieur Vulfran ain't always obliging."
"If your grandmother was nurse to Monsieur Edmond why doesn't she ask
him?"
"M. Edmond? he's the boss' son, and he went away from here before I was
born, no one's seen him since. He had a quarrel with his father, and his
father sent him to India to buy jute. The boss has made his fortune out
of jute. He's rich, as rich as...."
She could not think how rich M. Vulfran was so she said abruptly: "Now
shall we change arms?"
"If you like. What is your name?"
"Rosalie. What's yours?"
Perrine did not want to give her real name, so she chanced on one.
"Aurelie," she said.
They rested for a while, then went on again at their regular step.
"You say that the son had a quarrel with his father," said Perrine,
"then went away?"
"Yes, and the old gentleman got madder still with him 'cause he married
a Hindu girl, and a marriage like that doesn't count. His father wanted
him to marry a young lady who came of a very fine family, the best in
Picardy. It was because he wanted his son to marry this other girl that
he built the beautiful mansion he's got. It cost millions and millions
of francs. But M. Edmond wouldn't part with the wife he's got over there
to take up with the young lady here, so the quarrel got worse and worse,
and now they don't even know if the son is dead or alive. They haven't
had news of him for years, so they say. Monsieur Vulfran doesn't speak
to anyone about it, neither do the two nephews."
"Oh, he has nephews?"
"Yes, Monsieur Theodore Paindavoine, his brother's son, and Monsieur
Casimir Bretoneux, his sister's son, who help him in the business. If M.
Edmond doesn't come back the fortune and all the factories will go to
his two nephews."
"Oh, really!"
"Yes, and that'll be a sad thing, sad for the whole town. Them nephews
ain't no good for the business ... and so many people have to get their
living from it. Sure, it'll be a sad day when they get it, and they will
if poor M. Edmond doesn't come back. On Sundays, when I serve the meals,
I hear all sorts of things."
"About his nephews?"
"Yes, about them two and others also. But it's none of our business;
let's talk of something else."
"Yes, why not?"
As Perrine did not want to appear too inquisitive, she walked on
silently, but Rosalie's tongue could not be still for very long.
"Did you come along with your parents to Maraucourt?" she asked.
"I have no parents."
"No father, no mother!"
"No."
"You're like me, but I've got a grandmother who's very good, and she'd
be still better if it wasn't for my uncles and aunts; she has to please
them. If it wasn't for them I should not have to work in the factories;
I should stay at home and help in the store, but grandmother can't do as
she wants always. So you're all alone?"
"Yes, all alone."
"Was it your own idea to leave Paris and come to Maraucourt?"
"I was told that I might find work at Maraucourt, so instead of going
further on to some relations, I stopped here. If you don't know your
relations, and they don't know you, you're not sure if you're going to get
a welcome."
"That's true. If there are kind ones, there are some mighty unkind ones
in this world."
"Yes, that is so," Perrine said, nodding her pretty head.
"Well, don't worry; you'll find work in the factories. Ten sous a day is
not much, but it's something, and you can get as much as twenty-two sous.
I'm going to ask you a question; you can answer or not, as you like. Have
you got any money?"
"A little."
"Well, if you'd like to lodge at my grandmother's, that'll cost you
twenty-eight sous a week, pay in advance."
"I can pay twenty-eight sous."
"Now, I don't promise you a fine room all to yourself at that price;
there'll be six in the same room, but you'll have a bed, some sheets and
a coverlet. Everybody ain't got that."
"I'd like it and thank you very much."
"My grandmother don't only take in lodgers who can only pay twenty-eight
sous. We've got some very fine rooms in our house. Our boarders are
employed at the factories. There's Monsieur Fabry, the engineer of the
building; Monsieur Mombleux, the head clerk, and Mr. Bendit, who has
charge of the foreign correspondence. If you ever speak to him always
call him Mr. Benndite. He's an Englishman, and he gets mad if you
pronounce his name 'Bendit.' He thinks that one wants to insult him,
just as though one was calling him 'Thief'!"
"I won't forget; besides, I know English."
"You know English! You!"
"My mother was English."
"So, so! Well, that'll be fine for Mr. Bendit, but he'd be more pleased if
you knew every language. His great stunt on Sunday is to read prayers that
are printed in twenty-five languages. When he's gone through them once, he
goes over them again and again. Every Sunday he does the same thing. All
the same, he's a very fine man."