THE MARKET WOMAN.
Monsieur Jacques started from his aroused reverie, by the sight of that
hard gold piece left by Mirabeau on his table.
“This will keep them from want a long time,” he thought, gloating over
the money as if it had been food, for which he was in fact famishing;
for the bread he had given those poor women, was taken from his own
hungry mouth.
Jacques, in his devotion to Count Mirabeau, would have starved rather
than take gold from him. Indeed, his own hard earnings had been swept
away many a time in the vortex of that man’s reckless extravagance; and
he had gloried in the sacrifice. But now, another feeling came in and he
yielded to it without a murmur. He could struggle and endure, but those
suffering women must be fed, even with Mirabeau’s gold. How? They were
delicate and proud—far too proud for almstaking.
“I know! I have a thought,” he exclaimed at last, dropping the gold into
his pocket. “They shall seem to earn this.”
Jacques went swiftly down stairs, and knocked at a door in a lower story
of the house.
A clear sharp voice bade him enter, and directly he stood before a
little woman,—perhaps fifty years old, who was tearing half a dozen
bouquets to pieces, and dipping their stems in hot water, thus partially
restoring their lost bloom.
“Ah, Monsieur Jacques, you have found me at my work, cheating the poor,
dear people. No matter, it serves them right; why didn’t they buy my
flowers yesterday, when they were fresh and charming? Ah, my friend,
these are hard times for us poor women of the market. With the court at
Versailles and food so dear, flowers go for nothing, especially when it
is only an old woman who offers them.”
“I understand,” said Jacques, sitting down by the old woman. “We all
have our troubles. That was what I came to talk about. Your business is
doubtless much disturbed by these unsettled times.”
“Disturbed; _mon Dieu_, it is broken up. One sells nothing but carrots
and turnips now. The fruit and flowers that brought in a reasonable
profit, are left to wither on our stalls. Working people have no money
for them, and your court lords never come to _la Halle_ for their
flowers.”
“But they purchase them yet. There is no famine among the courtiers,”
said Jacques, steadily pursuing the purpose of his visit.
“But, as I said before,” answered the old woman, sharply. “They never
come to _la Halle_, and one cannot be in two places at once. Our trade
there is sure, if but little, for people must eat.”
“Still, a great many flowers are sold. Every day I see pretty girls in
the streets with loads, and people buy them.”
“True, Monsieur Jacques, but Dame Doudel is no girl, and people no
longer call her pretty.”
“But if you had a daughter now.”
Dame Doudel sighed.
“Ah, yes, if I had, but she is dead.”
“Still, a kind heart might supply the place.”
“How! you talk folly, my friend.”
“There is a young girl in this very house, fresh as a lily, and lovely
enough to be your own daughter.”
“Poor child but _she_ was so beautiful.”
“I understand! This girl is beautiful too, and needs work _so_ much.
Every one says Dame Doudel has a kind heart; so, when I saw this poor
child and her mother pining from want, it was natural that I should come
here.”
“Yes, it was natural,” said the Dame, putting a strand of field grass in
her mouth, and twisting the loose end around the bouquet she had
arranged.
“The child might make herself useful in arranging flowers, but most of
all in selling them,” suggested the kind-hearted fellow.
“Poor thing. Yes, she might. Well, my friend, send her here, and we
shall see.”
“Would it not be better, being as it were an old resident, if you went
yourself to Madame Gosner; she might resent my intrusion, for suffering
has not killed her pride.”
“Yes, I will go, why not? It will not be the only time Dame Doudel has
taken the first step in a kind act.”
“The girl will have to learn; she may be awkward, at first, you
understand. In the meantime they must eat. If it would not be a liberty,
perhaps Dame Doudel would use this until the business began to pay.
“This! But it is gold,” said the shrewd little woman, eyeing her
neighbor suspiciously, “enough to keep two people with care half a
month.”
“In that time, your pretty protegée will have begun to earn something. I
do not forget that until she does, money will be wanted, and who can use
it with more discretion than Dame Doudel?”
The market woman dropped the gold into her pocket. There was no doubting
that man longer.
“Well, my friend, it is arranged, and my work is done. To-morrow the
little ope shall begin, if her mother consents.”
“She will consent; for heart and soul, she is with us.”
“With the people, you mean. Yes, yes, and the little one, what of her?”
“She is good as an angel.”
“And we will keep her so. Our work, Monsieur Jacques, is not for
children. The clubs are no places for girls. This one shall sell
flowers, and charm us with her innocence. We need something sweet and
young to keep us human in these strange times. Are you going? Well,
well, adieu.”
“Ah, dame, you are kind as an angel. I cannot thank you enough,” said
Jacques, bending before the market woman as if she had been an empress.
The dame blushed like a girl, and, gathering up her flowers, took her
way to the market in quick haste, ashamed of the pleasure this adroit
flattery gave her.