means this: Antoinette, whom you thought you had stolen from me, is being stolen from you.”
“The comparison is gallant!” Léon shouted out to me. “Those gentlemen are thieves, and madam is an—”
Madam kissed him, and the kiss smothered the ugly word.
“Brothers,” I added, turning towards my stranded companions, “here we are without food and without a roof above our heads. Let us build a hut, and live on wild berries until a vessel comes to take us off our desert island.”
VI
And then?
And then, what do I know! You are asking me too much, Ninette. Antoinette and Léon have been living for two months, now, in the sky-blue nest. Antoinette continues a frank and good girl. Léon speaks ill of women more impetuously than ever. They dote on each other.
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR
I
AT the age of ten, the poor child seemed so delicate, that it was pitiful to see her working as hard as a farm-servant. She had great, wondering eyes, and the sad smile of those who suffer without complaining. The rich farmers who met her of an evening coming out of the wood, ill-clad and loaded with a heavy burden, sometimes offered, when the corn had sold well, to buy her a good petticoat in thick fustian, and she would then answer: “I know of a poor old man, who stands under the church porch, exposed to this December cold, and who has only one blouse; buy him a cloth jacket, and tomorrow, when I see him so well clad, I shall feel warm.” It was for that reason they had nicknamed her Sister-of-the-poor; and some called her so in derision, on account of her old clothes, whilst others did so as a reward for her kind heart.
Sister-of-the-poor, in her early days, had had a fine lace cradle and enough playthings to fill a room. Then, one morning, her mother did not come to kiss her when it was time to get up. As she cried at not seeing her, they told her that one of God’s angels had borne her away to Paradise, and that dried her tears. A month previous, her father had gone in the same way. The dear little thing thought he had just called her mother from the sky, and that the two being united, unable to live without their daughter, would soon send an angel to carry her away in her turn.
She had forgotten how she had lost her playthings and cradle. From a rich young lady, she became a poor girl, without any one seeming astonished: no doubt wicked people had come, who had stripped her of everything, whilst presenting the appearance of honest folk. All she remembered was having one morning seen her uncle Guillaume and her aunt Guillaumette beside her bed. She felt very much afraid, because they did not kiss her. Guillaumette hurriedly dressed her in a frock of coarse material; Guillaume, holding her by the hand, led her away to the wretched hut where she was now living. Then, that was all. She felt very weary every night.
Guillaume and Guillaumette had also been very wealthy. But Guillaume was partial to the society of boon companions, and to nights passed in drinking, without giving a thought to the barrels that were being emptied; Guillaumette was fond of ribbons, silk gowns, and of wasting long hours in vain endeavours to make herself look young and beautiful; and so they continued, until at last there was no more wine in the cellar, and the mirror was sold to purchase bread. Up till then they had shown that good nature of certain wealthy people, which is often only an effect of their own well-being and satisfaction; they enjoyed happiness more thoroughly by sharing it with others, and thus mingled much egotism with their charity. And so they were incapable of suffering and remaining kind. Regretting the wealth they had lost, having tears only for their own misery, they became hard for the poor world.
They forgot that their poverty had been brought about by their own selves, they accused each other of their ruin, and felt at heart immense necessity for vengeance; they were exasperated at having to eat black bread, and sought to console themselves by the sight of greater suffering than their own.
And so the rags of Sister-of-the-poor, and her thin little cheeks all pale with tears, pleased them. They would not own, even to themselves, the wicked delight they took in the child’s weakness, when she tottered back from the spring, clutching the heavy pitcher in both hands. They beat her for a drop of spilt water, saying that bad temper must be punished; and they struck her so readily and spitefully, that it was easy to perceive the chastisement was undeserved.
Sister-of-the-poor bore all their misery. They gave her the most tiring work to do, sent her to glean in the mid-day sun, and to pick up dead wood in snowy weather. Then as soon as she returned, she had to sweep, wash, and put everything in order in the hut. The dear little creature had ceased complaining. Happy days were such a long way off, that she did not know one could live without weeping. She never dreamt of there being young ladies who were petted and gay; in the absence of playthings, and kisses of an evening, she accepted strokes and dry bread, as forming also part of her existence. And men of wisdom were surprised to see a child of ten display so much pity for all who suffered, without giving a thought to her own misfortune.
But, one night, I know not what anniversary Guillaume and Guillaumette were feasting, they gave her a beautiful new sou piece, and allowed her to go out and play for the remainder of the day. Sister-of-the-poor went slowly down to the town, very much troubled with her sou and not knowing what to do to play. In that frame of mind she reached the principal street There was there, on the left, near the church, a shop full of sweets and dolls, which were so beautifully lit up, that the children of the neighbourhood dreamed of them, as of a paradise. On that particular evening a lot of little creatures stood on the pavement with gaping mouths and dumb with admiration, whilst their hands were pressed against the window panes, as near as possible to the marvels displayed there. Sister-of-the-poor envied their audacity. She stopped in the middle of the street, allowing her little arms to fall beside her, and bringing together her rags which were blown apart by the wind. Feeling somewhat proud at being rich, she clutched her new sou very tight and selected with her eyes the plaything she meant to buy. At last she decided on a doll which had hair like a grown-up person; this doll, which was as tall as she was, wore a white silk gown similar to that of the Holy Virgin.
The little girl made a few steps forward. She was ashamed, and as she gazed around her before entering the shop, she perceived an ill-clad woman sitting on a stone bench, and nursing a child who was crying in her arms. She stopped again, turning her back to the doll. Her hands, at the child’s cries, became locked together in pity; and, this time without shame, she hurried toward the poor woman and gave her her beautiful new sou.
The latter had been observing Sister-of-the-poor for some time. She had seen her stop, then approach the playthings, so that when the child came to her, she understood her good heart. She took the sou with tearful eyes; then she retained the little hand that gave it her in her own.
“My child,” she said, “I accept your charity, because I see a refusal would grieve you. But are you beyond necessity yourself? Ill-clad though I be, I can satisfy one of your wishes.”
As the poor woman spoke, her eyes shone like stars, whilst around her head ran a halo, as if formed by a ray of the sun. The child, who was now asleep on her knees, smiled divinely in its slumber.
Sister-of-the-poor shook her fair head.
“No, madam,” she answered, “I have no wish. I wanted to buy that doll you see opposite, but my aunt Guillaumette would have broken it for me. As you will not take my sou for nothing, I would like you to give me a nice kiss in exchange for it.”
The
