into another room, where I saw a handsome lady stretched on a beautiful
couch with a pile of cushions under her. Oh! she was terrible pretty,
that lady was! she was dark, and her long black hair was combed smooth
and fell over her shoulders on both sides. And her eyes! oh! what eyes!
they were big and black, and I never saw such bright eyes, but they
weren't soft. By the lady's side, in a dainty little cradle, was the
little three days old boy; he was strong and healthy, I tell you,
although he'd never had anything but the bottle. But when I offered him
the breast at a sign from his mother--my word! you should have seen how
the little rascal bit at it!
"'While the child was nursing, the handsome lady seemed to be doing a
lot of thinking. At last she says to me:
"'"I see that this child will be in good hands with you, and I place him
in your care. How much do you want a month?"
"'I made bold to ask for thirty francs; I didn't expect to get it, but
the lady agreed right off; she took a purse from under a cushion and
took out a hundred and fifty francs in gold, and gave it to me.
"'"Here," she says, "here's five months in advance, and a supply of
clothes which you are to take away with the child and the cradle. You
will go back at once; the cab that brought you here is waiting below,
and will take you to the stage office. I want you to leave Paris at
once, because the air is bad here, and my child's health will suffer if
he's kept here any longer."
"'I asked nothing better than to go right home, so I says:
"'"Yes, madame, I'll take the child and go; but first tell me the little
one's name."
"'"Emile."
"'"And madame's name?--for I must know that, so that I can let her know
how her son gets along."
"'The lady frowned, then replied:
"'"I am the Baronne de Mortagne. Here is my address on this paper; take
it."
"'I took the paper and put it away carefully in my pocket; then I says:
"'"Now, if madame la baronne wants to write down my address, I'll give
it to her."
"'The lady took a little book from a table--there was white paper and a
pencil in it--and wrote down my name and address in full: Jacqueline
Treillard, wife of Pierre Treillard, day laborer, Morfontaine. Then they
gave me a good glass of wine and a cake, and when I had eaten, the
person who had brought me there took the bundle of clothes and says:
"'"Now take the cradle with the child in it, and let's be off; I'll go
to the stage office with you."
"'Before I took the child away, I lifted him in my arms and offered him
to his mother, because I supposed she'd want to kiss him, and that she'd
cry when it came to parting with him; but the beautiful lady didn't
seem to feel it much; she just barely put her lips to the child's
forehead, then handed him right back to me, saying:
"'"Take him away, and above all things don't amuse yourself by bringing
him to Paris to show him to me; I don't like to have children carried
round the country. I shall come to see you when I am able; here's twenty
francs more for your journey."
"'"Faith!" thinks I to myself, "if this lady isn't very fond of
children, I can't deny that she's mighty generous."
"'I got into the cab again with the lady who carried the bundle; we got
safely to the stage office; I engaged a seat for four o'clock; and my
companion was kind enough to keep me company; she didn't leave me till
she saw me on board the stage that took me back to Morfontaine.
"'Well, when I got home, you can imagine my man Pierre's surprise to see
me back so soon. When he learned what had happened, he was as pleased as
I was. Bless me! a hundred and fifty francs in advance, and twenty
francs for the journey that cost just seven francs ten sous! That was a
windfall! I looked at the address they'd given me; but as I don't know
how to read very well, I couldn't make it out, it was written so small.
Pierre could read even less than I could; so I showed it to the
schoolmaster. It said:
"'"Madame la Baronne de Mortagne, at her hôtel, Rue de Grenelle,
Faubourg Saint-Germain."
"'"The deuce!" I says to myself; "it seems that I've been in Faubourg
Saint-Germain!"
"'Well, there was the child in our family, and he grew like a mushroom.
Two months passed by, and I didn't hear anything from his mother.
"'"She doesn't have time to come," I says to myself; "I must let her
know how her boy's coming on."
"'I had monsieur the schoolmaster write a letter, and I put it in the
post, but I didn't get a word in reply. My man and I agreed that the
lady knew her child was well, and that was enough for her; apparently
she didn't have time to come to see him.
"'Two months more passed, and I sent another letter--no answer any more
than to the first. Then I says to myself: "There's a mother that don't
show much affection for her son! but when the five months are almost
gone, she'll have to let us hear from her when she sends me my money.
Perhaps she'll come and bring it with her; yes, that's probably what
she's waiting for."
"'But the fifth month passed and no one came, and she didn't send any
money. I had a third letter written, in which I asked for money. I
didn't get any answer any more than to the other two, and it began to
look queer to us. But about that time I lost my poor husband, and then,
a month after, I lost my son! All the misfortunes fell on me at once,
and I forgot all about little Emile's mother.
"'At last, when my grief began to get calmed down a little, I says to
myself: "That lady must be sick, that I don't hear from her. I think
I'll go to her house in Paris with her son; it's eight months now that
I've had him; she owes me for three months and I need the money; besides
she'll see that her son's in good health."
"'I got the schoolmaster to read me the address again; then I put it in
my pocket and started. When I got to Paris, I inquired the way to Rue de
Grenelle, Faubourg Saint-Germain; someone showed me the way and I found
the street. It was a fine, broad street, not at all like the one I went
to before, when they took me to my foster-child's mother. But I
remembered being told that we went in at the rear of the house, and I
says to myself: "This must be the front this time, for sure."
"'I asked for the Baronne de Mortagne's house, and the answer I got was:
"I don't know her." I went farther along; the same answer. I kept on and
on--and it's a terrible long street--but no one knew the Baronne de
Mortagne; and I had gone the whole length of the street, asking on both
sides. Then I asked for the street that ran at the rear of the houses,
thinking that I might perhaps find my way better there; but they laughed
in my face and told me that the houses didn't have any rear.
"'Well! I understood then, my dear sister, that I had been taken in by a
bad mother who just wanted to get rid of her baby, and to fix things so
that she'd never hear of him again. I might have gone and told my story
to the magistrate, who'd have ordered the child taken to La Pitié; but I
didn't want to, I was attached to little Emile, and, poor as I was I
kept him. Besides, I thought that perhaps his mother would regret it
some day and come to look for her son. But it's nearly four years now
that I've had the child, and in all that time I've never heard a word
from the so-called baroness, who had such big black eyes. As for the
boy, here he is; he's got a pretty face and eyes almost as black as his
mother's; but when you come to his disposition, well! I can't say he's a
very good boy; he's wilful and obstinate, and a little liar, and it's
his great delight to torment other children. But he's so young! with
time, that will take care of itself.'
"That, mesdames, is the story that Jacqueline told her sister, the widow
Tourniquoi; I have tried to tell it to you just as she told it. You know
now why little Emile is called hereabout the lost child, for of course
the worthy nurse had no reason to make a mystery of the affair; and it
was not long before everybody knew that the little fellow she brought
with her had been abandoned by his mother, and that no one knew who his
parents were."
"Thanks a thousand times for your good-nature, monsieur le docteur. And
this Jacqueline, the excellent woman who took care of the child, is she
still living?"
"Yes, she isn't very old; she still lives with her sister, the widow
Tourniquoi. As for the little boy, who is nearly eight years old, I
suppose, he shows himself far from worthy of what she has done for him;
he is quite the worst little rapscallion in the neighborhood. His
pleasure consists in doing mischief: if windows are broken, fruit
stolen, branches broken from trees, animals hurt by stones thrown at
them, you may be certain beforehand that little Emile is the one who has
done it. So that he is not loved hereabout, except by poor Jacqueline,
who always tries to excuse her foster-son's misdeeds by saying that time
will take care of it. And time is taking care of it, but not as she
means to be understood: it is growing worse instead of better."
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
Déja dans la coupe profonde= Déjà dans la coupe profonde {pg 45}
As I told you, madames= As I told you, mesdames {pg 161}
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The _Débardeurs_ formerly constituted one of the Parisian trade
guilds. Their occupation was the handling and discharging of the lumber
rafts that were floated down to Paris. Their dress was a distinctive
one, persistently adhered to, and became a favorite one with
masqueraders.
[B] The name of the conventional simpleton in the old plays given by
strolling players at country fairs and markets.
[C] _Faire des poufs_ is said of a person who runs into debt, knowing
that he will be unable to pay, then suddenly decamps.
[D] There is a play on words here, _légère_ meaning inconstant and
frail--wanton--, as well as light of foot.
[E] _Rat_ and _crapaud_--rat and toad--as used here, signify a skinflint
and an ugly little creature.
[F] Chamoureau says: _j'ai des ménagements à garder._ The shepherdess
understands him to say _déménagements_; _déménager_ means to move, to
change one's residence.
[G] Mon petit doigt me l'avait dit--a phrase equivalent to the English
"a little bird told me."
[H] The professor said, a few paragraphs earlier, _ignorance
crasse_--dense ignorance!--the countryman understood him to say
_crasseux_--dirty!
[I] The point of the dialogue is lost in English. Chamoureau in
resenting the maid's naming him camel,--Chameau,--lays himself open to
her retort that implies he may have been cuckolded, i.e., "have worn the
horns"; the allusion to the humps bearing this signification here.
[J] In French, _détail_ means _retail_ as well as _detail_.
[K] Ce n'est pas en _vain_ que j'étais dans le _vin_.
[L] _Noyau_, meaning also _stone_--of a peach or nut.