THE FAIRY POODLE

They were called the "Two Children" because they were so unpractical;

even in bohemia, where practicality is the last virtue to flourish,

their improvidence was surprising; but really they were not children at

all--they had been married for three years, though to watch their

billing and cooing, you would have supposed them to be bride and

bridegroom.

Julian and Juliette had fallen in love and run to the Mairie as

joyously as if chateaubriands were to be gathered from the boughs in

the Jardin des Buttes-Chaumont; and since then their home had been the

studio under the slates, where they were often penniless. Indeed, if it

had not been for the intermittent mercies of madame Cochard, the

concierge, they would have starved under the slates. However, they were

sure that the pictures which Julien painted would some day make him

celebrated, and that the fairy-tales which Juliette weaved would some

day be as famous as Hans Andersen's. So they laughed, and painted and

scribbled, and spent their money on bonbons, instead of saving it for

bread; and when they had no dinner, they would kiss each other, and say

"There is a good time coming," And they were called the "Two Children,"

as you know.

But even the patience of madame Cochard was taxed when Juliette brought

back the poodle.

She found him--a strayed, muddy, unhappy little poodle--in the rue de

Rivoli one wet afternoon in November, and what more natural than that

she should immediately bear him home, and propose to give him a bath,

and adopt him? It was the most natural thing in the world, since she

was Juliette, yet this madame Cochard, who objected to a dog on her

stairs as violently as if it were a tiger, was furious.

"Is it not enough," she cried, "that you are the worst tenants in the

house, you two--that you are always behindhand with your rent, and that

I must fill your mouths out of my own purse? Is a concierge an Angel

from Heaven, do you think, that you expect her to provide also for lost

dogs?"

"Dear, kind madame Cochard," cooed Juliette, "you will learn to love

the little creature as if it were your own child! See how trustfully he

regards you!"

"It is a fact," added Julien; "he seems to take to her already! It is

astonishing how quickly a dog recognises a good heart."

"Good heart, or not," exclaimed the concierge, "it is to be understood

that I do not consent to this outrage. The poodle shall not remain!"

"Be discreet," urged Juliette. "I entreat you to be discreet, for your

own sake; if you must have the whole truth, he is a fairy poodle!"

"What do you say?" ejaculated madame Cochard.

"He is a fairy poodle, and if we treat him ungenerously, we shall

suffer. Remember the history of the Lodgers, the Concierge, and the

Pug!"

"I have never heard of such a history," returned madame Cochard; "and I

do not believe that there ever was one."

"She has never heard the history of the Lodgers, the Concierge, and the

Pug!" cried Juliette. "Oh, then listen, madame! Once upon a time there

were two lodgers, a young man and his wife, and they were so poor that

often they depended on the tenderness of the concierge to supply them

with a dinner."

"Did they also throw away their good money on bonbons and flowers?"

asked madame Cochard, trying her utmost to look severe.

"It is possible," admitted Juliette, who was perched on the table, with

the dirty little animal in her lap, "for though they are our hero and

heroine, I cannot pretend that they were very wise. Well, this

concierge, who suffered badly from lumbago and stairs, had sometimes a

bit of temper, so you may figure yourself what a fuss she raised when

the poor lodgers brought home a friendless pug to add to their

embarrassments. However--"

"There is no 'however,'" persisted madame Cochard; "she raises a fuss,

and that is all about it!"

"Pardon, dear madame," put in Julien, "you confuse the cases; we are

now concerned with the veracious history of the pug, not the uncertain

future of the poodle."

"Quite so," said Juliette. "She raised a terrible fuss and declared

that the pug should go, but finally she melted to it and made it

welcome. And then, what do you suppose happened? Why, it turned out to

be an enchanted prince, who rewarded them all with wealth and

happiness. The young man's pictures were immediately accepted by the

Salon--did I mention that he was an artist? The young woman's stories--

did I tell you that she wrote stories?--became so much the fashion that

her head swam with joy; and the concierge--the dear, kind concierge--

was changed into a beautiful princess, and never had to walk up any

stairs again as long as she lived. Thus we see that one should never

forbid lodgers to adopt a dog!"

"Thus we see that they do well to call you a pair of 'children,'"

replied madame Cochard, "that is what we see! Well, well, keep the dog,

since you are so much bent on it; only I warn you that if it gives me

trouble, it will be sausages in no time! I advise you to wash it

without delay, for a more deplorable little beast I never saw."

Julien and Juliette set to work with delight, and after he was bathed

and dry, the alteration in the dog was quite astonishing. Although he

did not precisely turn into a prince, he turned into a poodle of the

most fashionable aspect. Obviously an aristocrat among poodles, a

poodle of high estate. The metamorphosis was so striking that a new

fear assailed his rescuers, the fear that it might be dishonest of them

to retain him--probably some great lady was disconsolate at his loss!

Sure enough! A few days later, when Sanquereau called upon them, he

said:

"By the way, did I not hear that you had found a poodle, my children?

Doubtless it is the poodle for which they advertise. See!" And he

produced a copy of a journal in which "a handsome reward" was promised

for the restoration of an animal which resembled their protégé to a

tuft.

The description was too accurate for the Children to deceive

themselves, and that afternoon Juliette carried the dog to a

magnificent house which was nothing less than the residence of the

comtesse de Grand Ecusson.

She was left standing in a noble hall while a flunkey bore the dog

away. Then another flunkey bade her follow him upstairs; and in a salon

which was finer than anything that Juliette had ever met with outside

the pages of a novel, the Countess was reclining on a couch with the

poodle in her arms.

"I am so grateful to you for the recovery of my darling," said the

great lady; "my distress has been insupportable. Ah, naughty, naughty

Racine!" She made a pretence of chastising the poodle on the nose.

"I can understand it, madame," said Juliette, much embarrassed.

"Where did you find him? And has he been well fed, well taken care of?

I hope he has not been sleeping in a draught?"

"Oh, indeed, madame, he has been nourished like a beloved child.

Doubtless, not so delicately as with madame, but--"

"It was most kind of you," said the lady. "I count myself blessed that

my little Racine fell into such good hands. Now as to the reward, what

sum would you think sufficient?"

Juliette looked shy. "I thank you, madame, but we could not accept

anything," she faltered.

"What?" exclaimed the Countess, raising her eyebrows in surprise, "you

cannot accept anything? How is that?"

"Well," said Juliette, "it would be base to accept money for a simple

act of honesty. It is true that we did not wish to part with the dog--

we had grown to love him--but, as to our receiving payment for giving

him up, that is impossible."

The Countess laughed merrily. "What a funny child you are! And, who are

'we'--you and your parents?"

"Oh no," said Juliette; "my parents are in Heaven, madame; but I am

married."

"Your husband must be in heaven, too!" said the Countess, who was a

charming woman.

"Ah," demurred Juliette, "but although I have a warm heart, I have also

a healthy appetite, and he is not rich; he is a painter."

"I must go to see his pictures some day," replied the comtesse de Grand

Ecusson. "Give me the address--and believe that I am extremely grateful

to you!"

It need not be said that Juliette skipped home on air after this

interview. The hint of such patronage opened the gates of paradise to

her, and the prospect was equally dazzling to Julien. For fully a week

they talked of nothing but a visit from the comtesse de Grand Ecusson,

having no suspicion that fine ladies often forgot their pretty promises

as quickly as they made them.

And the week, and a fortnight, and a month passed, and at last the

expectation faded; they ceased to indulge their fancies of a carriage-

and-pair dashing into the street with a Lady Bountiful. And what was

much more serious, madame Cochard ceased to indulge their follies. The

truth was that she had never pardoned the girl for refusing to accept

the proffered reward; the delicacy that prompted the refusal was beyond

her comprehension, and now that the pair were in arrears with their

rent again, she put no bridle on her tongue. "It appears to me that it

would have been more honourable to accept money for a poodle than to

owe money to a landlord," she grunted. "It must be perfectly understood

that if the sum is not forthcoming on the first of January, you will

have to get out. I have received my instructions, and I shall obey

them. On the first day of January, my children, you pay, or you go! Le

bon Dieu alone knows what will become of you, but that is no affair of

mine. I expect you will die like the babes in the wood, for you are no

more fit to make a living than a cow is fit to fly."

"Dear madame Cochard," they answered, peacefully, "why distress

yourself about us? The first of January is more than a week distant; in

a week we may sell a picture, or some fairy tales--in a week many

things may happen!" And they sunned themselves on the boulevard the

same afternoon with as much serenity as if they had been millionaires.

Nevertheless, they did not sell a picture or some fairy tales in the

week that followed--and the first of January dawned with relentless

punctuality, as we all remember.

In the early morning, when madame Cochard made her ascent to the attic

--her arms folded inexorably, the glare of a creditor in her eye--she

found that Juliette had already been out. (If you can believe me, she

had been out to waste her last two francs on an absurd tie for Julien!)

"Eh bien," demanded the concierge sternly, "where is your husband? I am

here, as arranged, for the rent; no doubt he has it ready on the

mantelpiece for me?"

"He is not in," answered Juliette coaxingly, "and I am sorry to say we

have had disappointments. The fact is there is something wrong with the

construction of a story of which I had immense hopes--it needs letting

out at the waist, and a tuck put in at the hem. When I have made the

alterations, I am sure it will fit some journal elegantly."

"All this passes forbearance!" exclaimed madame Cochard. "Well, you

have thoroughly understood, and all is said--you will vacate your

lodging by evening! So much grace I give you; but at six o'clock you

depart promptly, or you will be ejected! And do not reckon on me to

send any meal up here during the day, for you will not get so much as a

crust. What is it that you have been buying there?"

"It is a little gift for Julien; I rose early to choose it before he

woke, and surprise him; but when I returned he was out."

"A gift?" cried the concierge. "You have no money to buy food, and you

buy a gift for your husband! What for?"

"What for?" repeated Juliette wonderingly. "Why, because it is New

Year's Day! And that reminds me--I wish you the compliments of the

season, madame; may you enjoy many happy years!"

"Kind words pay no bills," snapped the concierge. "I have been lenient

far too long--I have my own reputation to consider with the landlord.

By six o'clock, bear in mind!" And then, to complete her resentment,

what should happen but that Julien entered bearing a bouquet!

To see Julien present Juliette with the roses, and to watch Juliette

enchant Julien with the preposterous tie, was as charming a little

comedy of improvidence as you would be likely to meet with in a

lifetime.

"Mon Dieu!" gasped madame Cochard, purple with indignation, "it is,

indeed, well that you are leaving here, monsieur--a madhouse is the

fitting address for you! You have nothing to eat and you buy roses for

your wife! What for?"

"What for?" echoed Julien, astonished. "Why, because it is New Year's

Day! And I take the opportunity to wish you the compliments of the

season, madame--may your future be as bright as Juliette's eyes!"

"By six o'clock!" reiterated the concierge, who was so exasperated that

she could barely articulate. "By six o'clock you will be out of the

place!" And to relieve her feelings, she slammed the door with such

violence that half a dozen canvases fell to the floor.

"Well, this is a nice thing," remarked Julien, when she had gone. "It

looks to me, mignonne, as if we shall sleep in the Bois, with the moon

for an eiderdown."

"At least you shall have a comfy pillow, sweetheart," cried Juliette,

drawing his head to her breast.

"My angel, there is none so soft in the Elysée, And as we have nothing

for déjeuner in the cupboard, I propose that we breakfast now on

kisses."

"Ah, Julien!" whispered the girl, as she folded him in her arms.

"Ah, Juliette!" It was as if they had been married that morning.

"And yet," continued the young man, releasing her at last, "to own the

truth, your kisses are not satisfying as a menu; they are the choicest

of hors d'oeuvres--they leave one hungry for more."

They were still making love when Sanquereau burst in to wish them a

Happy New Year.

"How goes it, my children?" he cried. "You look like a honeymoon, I

swear! Am I in the way, or may I breakfast with you?"

"You are not in the way, mon vieux," returned Julien; "but I shall not

invite you to breakfast with me, because my repast consists of

Juliette's lips."

"Mon Dieu!" said Sanquereau. "So you are broke? Well, in my chequered

career I have breakfasted on much worse fare than yours."

At this reply, Juliette blushed with all the bashfulness of a bride,

and Julien endeavoured to assume the air of a man of the world.

"Tell me," he said; "we are in difficulties about the rent--have you by

chance a louis that you could lend me?"

Sanquereau turned out his pockets, like the good fellow he was, but he

could produce no more than a sou. "What a bother!" he cried. "I would

lend you a louis if I had it as readily as a cigarette-paper, but you

see how I am situated. On my honour, it rends my heart to have to

refuse."

"You are a gallant comrade," said Julien, much touched. "Come back and

sup with us this evening, and we will open the New Year with a

festivity!"

"Hein? But there will be no supper," faltered Juliette.

"That's true," said Julien; "there will be no supper--I was forgetting.

Still--who knows? There is plenty of time; I shall have an idea.

Perhaps I may be able to borrow something from Tricotrin."

"I shall be enchanted," responded Sanquereau; "depend on my arrival! If

I am not mistaken, I recognize Tricotrin's voice on the stairs."

His ears had not deceived him; Tricotrin appeared with Pitou at this

very moment.

"Greeting, my children!" they cried. "How wags the world? May the New

Year bring you laurels and lucre!"

"To you also, dear Gustave and Nicolas," cried the Children. "May your

poems and your music ignite the Seine, and may Sanquereau rise to

eminence and make statues of you both!"

"In the meantime," added Sanquereau, "can either of you put your hands

on a few francs? There is a fine opening for them here."

"A difference of opinion exists between ourselves and the landlord,"

Julien explained; "we consider that he should wait for his rent, and he

holds a different view. If you could lend us fifteen francs, we might

effect a compromise."

The poet and the composer displayed the lining of their pockets as

freely as the sculptor had done, but their capital proved to be a sou

less than his own. Tears sprang to their eyes as they confessed their

inability to be of use, "We are in despair," they groaned.

"My good, kind friends," exclaimed Julien, "your sympathy is a noble

gift in itself! Join us in a little supper this evening in celebration

of the date."

"We shall be delighted," declared Tricotrin and Pitou.

"But--but--" stammered Juliette again, "where is it to come from, this

supper--and where shall we be by supper-time?"

"Well, our address is on the lap of the gods," admitted Julien, "but

while there is life there is hope. Possibly I may obtain a loan from

Lajeunie."

Not many minutes had passed before Lajeunie also paid a visit to the

attic, "Aha," cried the unsuccessful novelist, as he perceived the

company, "well met! My children, my brothers, may your rewards equal

your deserts this year--may France do honour to your genius!"

"And may Lajeunie be crowned the New Balzac," shouted the assembly;

"may his abode be in the Champs Elysées, and his name in the mouth of

all the world!"

But, extraordinary as it appears, Lajeunie proved to be as impecunious

as the rest there; and he was so much distressed that Julien, deeply

moved, said:

"Come back to supper, Lajeunie, we will drink toasts to the Muses!" And

now there were four guests invited to the impracticable supper, and

when the Children were left alone they clapped their hands at the

prospect.

"How merry we shall be!" Julien exclaimed; "and awhile ago we talked of

passing the night in the Bois! It only shows you that one can never

tell what an hour may bring forth."

"Yes, yes," assented Juliette blithely. "And as for the supper--"

"We shall not require it till nine o'clock at the earliest."

"And now it is no more than midday. Why, there is an eternity for

things to arrange themselves!"

"Just so. The sky may rain truffles in such an interval," said the

painter. And they drew their chairs closer to the fire, and pretended

to each other that they were not hungry.

The hours crept past, and the sunshine waned, and snow began to flutter

over Paris. But no truffles fell. By degrees the fire burnt low, and

died. To beg for more fuel was impossible, and Juliette shivered a

little.

"You are cold, sweetheart," sighed Julien. "I will fetch a blanket from

the bed and wrap you in it."

"No," she murmured, "wrap me in your arms--it will be better."

Darker and darker grew the garret, and faster and faster fell the snow.

"I have a fancy," said Juliette, breaking a long silence, "that it is

the hour in which a fairy should appear to us. Let us look to see if

she is coming!"

They peered from the window, but in the twilight no fairy was to be

discerned; only an "old clo'" man was visible, trudging on his round.

"I declare," cried Julien, "he is the next best thing to your fairy! I

will sell my summer suit and my velvet jacket. What do I want of a

velvet jacket? Coffee and eggs will be much more cheerful."

"And I," vowed Juliette, "can spare my best hat easily--indeed, it is

an encumbrance. If we make madame Cochard a small peace-offering she

may allow us to remain until the morning."

"What a grand idea! We shall provide ourselves with a night's shelter

and the means to entertain our friends as well Hasten to collect our

wardrobe, mignonette, while I crack my throat to make him hear. Hé,

hé!"

At the repeated cries the "old clo'" man lifted his gaze to the fifth-

floor window at last, and in a few minutes Julien and Juliette were

kneeling on the boards above a pile of garments, which they raised one

by one for his inspection.

"Regard, monsieur," said Julien, "this elegant summer suit! It is

almost as good as new. I begin to hesitate to part with it. What shall

we say for this elegant summer suit?"

The dealer fingered it disdainfully. "Show me boots," he suggested; "we

can do business in boots."

"Alas!" replied Julien, "the only boots that I possess are on my feet.

We will again admire the suit. What do you estimate it at--ten francs?"

"Are you insane? are you a lunatic?" returned the dealer. "To a

reckless man it might be worth ten sous. Let us talk of boots!"

"I cannot go barefoot," expostulated Julien. "Juliette, my Heart, do

you happen to possess a second pair of boots?"

Juliette shook her head forlornly. "But I have a hat with daisies in

it," she said. "Observe, monsieur, the delicate tints of the buds! How

like to nature, how exquisite they are! They make one dream of

courtship in the woods. I will take five francs for it."

"From me I swear you will not take them!" said the "old clo'" man.

"Boots," he pleaded; "for the love of God, boots!"

"Morbleu, what a passion for boots you have!" moaned the unhappy

painter; "they obsess you, they warp your judgment. Can you think of

nothing in the world but boots? Look, we come to the gem of the

exhibition--a velvet jacket! A jacket like this confers an air of

greatness, one could not feel the pinch of poverty in such a jacket. It

is, I confess, a little white at the elbows, but such high lights are

very effective. And observe the texture--as soft as a darling's cheek!"

The other turned it about with indifferent hands, and the Children

began to realise that he would prove no substitute for a fairy after

all. Then, while they watched him with sinking hearts, the door was

suddenly opened, and the concierge tottered on the threshold.

"Monsieur, madame!" she panted, with such respect that they stared at

each other.

"Eh bien?"

"A visitor!" She leant against the wall, overwhelmed.

"Who is it?"

"Madame, la comtesse de Grand Ecusson!"

Actually! The Countess had kept her word after all, and now she rustled

in, before the "old clo'" man could be banished. White as a virgin

canvas, Julien staggered forward to receive her, a pair of trousers,

which he was too agitated to remember, dangling under his arm. "Madame,

this honour!" he stammered; and, making a piteous effort to disguise

his beggary, "One's wardrobe accumulates so that, really, in a small

ménage, one has no room to--"

"I have suffered from the inconvenience myself, monsieur," said the

Countess graciously. "Your charming wife was so kind as to invite me to

view your work; and see--my little Racine has come to wish his

preservers a Happy New Year!"

And, on the honour of an historian, he brought one! Before they left

she had given a commission for his portrait at a thousand francs, and

purchased two landscapes, for which a thousand francs more would be

paid on the morrow. When Sanquereau, and Lajeunie, and Tricotrin, and

Pitou arrived, expecting the worst, they were amazed to discover the

Children waltzing round the attic to the music of their own voices.

What _hurras_ rang out when the explanation was forthcoming; what

loans were promised to the guests, and what a gay quadrille was danced!

It was not until the last figure had concluded that Julien and Juliette

recognised that, although they would be wealthy in the morning, they

were still penniless that night.

"Hélas! but we have no supper after all," groaned Julien.

"Pardon, it is here, monsieur!" shouted madame Cochard, who entered

behind a kingly feast. "_Comment_, shall the artist honoured by

madame la comtesse de Grand Ecusson have no supper? Pot-au-feu,

monsieur; leg of mutton, monsieur; little tarts, monsieur; dessert,

monsieur; and for each person a bottle of good wine!"

And the justice that was done to it, and the laughter that pealed under

the slates! The Children didn't forget that it was all due to the dog.

Juliette raised her glass radiantly.

"Gentlemen," she cried, "I ask you to drink to the Fairy Poodle!"