Chapter XXV: The Lost Child

The short, stout, puffy little man, who gasped for breath when he had climbed a flight of stairs or walked a little faster than usual, appeared in his turn, and saluted the two ladies as old acquaintances.

"It is I, madame, come to pay my respects--that is to say, if I don't disturb you; if my presence at this moment is inopportune, pray tell me, and I will go at once."

"No, monsieur le docteur, your presence is not inopportune; on the contrary, we hope that it will make up to us in some measure for the visit we have just received."

"Ah! have you had visitors from Paris?"

"Not from Paris, but from the neighborhood: first, Monsieur Luminot; he seemed to us to be very jovial, although his jests are not always in the best taste; but after him there came a certain Monsieur Jarnouillard.--Really, we could very well have done without his visit! Everything about the man is disagreeable,--his face, his dress, his language; and his curiosity is beyond words!"

"Oh! as to that, mesdames, it's a common failing in small places; there are few people here, and everyone wants to know what his neighbor is doing. I won't deny that I myself am reasonably curious; it's a disease that grows on one here.--Well, here you are among us; are you still satisfied with your purchase?"

"More than ever, doctor; and our house pleases us so much that we never leave it."

"Haven't you seen our square yet, the Poncelet promenade?"

"No, but it seems that it is very pretty, for we have already heard of it."

"Why, yes; it's a square worthy of a large city.--And then you mustn't judge our society by Monsieur Jarnouillard; we have some very pleasant people--large land-owners; to be sure, they stay at home and rarely come to our houses.--Have you been to walk in the direction of the Tower yet?"

"Not yet; but we already know the owner of the place, doctor."

"Really? you know him?"

"That is to say, we met him and his dog on the bank of the Marne, on our way to Poucette's uncle's field."

"Well, what do you think of the man? Hasn't he something savage in his expression?"

"Why, no; he has the look of a man who doesn't care for society, and who doesn't shave; but, as he walked by very rapidly, I couldn't examine him closely."

"But I," said Agathe, "won the heart of his beautiful dog. He looked at me and caressed me. His master had to call him, to induce him to leave me."

"You astonish me, for he's a rascal who seldom caresses strangers. However, I must admit that this Ami--that is his name, you know--is really endowed with extraordinary intelligence. Only three days ago he saved a child who was drowning."

"Oh! the good dog! how grateful the child's parents must be to him!"

"Parents?--the little fellow who was drowning hasn't any; it was the lost child."

"The lost child! Mon Dieu! what does that mean?"

"The peasants have given that name to the little fellow, because no one, not even his nurse, knows to whom he belongs. It's a mysterious story."

"Tell us about it, doctor; you always have interesting things to tell, and we enjoy them ever so much."

"You see--the local disease, curiosity, is taking hold of you!"

"That's very possible; but tell us about the lost child."

"First of all, I must tell you, mesdames, that about four years ago the widow Tourniquoi won a prize in a lottery. I don't know just what lottery it was, but that makes no difference to our story--the important point is that the widow Tourniquoi, who was not rich, and who had two children to bring up, won, I believe, about twenty thousand francs. To a peasant that is a large fortune! Thereupon this woman, who has an excellent heart, wrote to a sister of hers at Morfontaine, near Ermenonville; this sister was a widow also, and was not fortunate; so Madame Tourniquoi wrote to her to come to her; to leave Morfontaine, where she had no regular work, and come to live with her.

"Naturally the poor sister asked nothing better than to join her sister who was wealthy, or, at least, in comfortable circumstances. So she arrived at Chelles one fine day with a little boy about three years and a half old.

"'Hallo!' said Madame Tourniquoi to Jacqueline--that is her sister's name--'I thought you didn't have any children, that you lost your only one when he was only a year old. But never mind, you and your son are welcome.'

"'This little fellow isn't mine,' replied Jacqueline, 'it's a foster-child that was placed in my charge, and left on my hands. I'll tell you how it happened. I was nursing my boy, who was four months old, and as we weren't rich, I said to my husband, who was alive then: "I'm going to Paris, to enter my name at the nurses' bureau, and then I'll wait for a child to nurse."--He agreed, so I started for Paris. When I got there, I asked a lady who was passing, what way I should go to get to the nurses' bureau. The lady, who was dressed very simply, examined me for some time, then she says:

"'"You mean to go to the nurses' bureau and enter your name and get a child to nurse?"

"'"Yes, madame," I says, "I've come to Paris just for that."

"'"Where do you come from?"

"'"I live at Morfontaine, ten leagues from Paris."

"'"Well! your lucky star put you in my path, for if you are looking for a child to nurse, I am looking for a nurse--for a very rich lady who lay in three days ago of a fine little boy who's as good as a charm. She meant at first to bring him up on the bottle, but she's changed her mind, and I'll take you to her; so you don't need to enter your name at the nurses' bureau, which is very lucky for you, because in this way you'll save a lot of expenses."

"'I listened to the lady with joy in my heart; I was delighted to find what I wanted just as soon as I got out of the stage, and I was glad, too, to get the child of a rich person, because they always pay better. So I told the lady that I asked nothing better than to go with her; then she took me to a big square where there was lots of carriages, told me to get into one of them with her, said something quietly to the driver, and we started.

"'I don't know anything about Paris, and I don't know where they took me. At last the carriage stopped; we were in a narrow, dirty street, and I says to myself: "It's a funny thing that rich people in Paris should live in such nasty streets!" But the lady says to me:

"'"We're going in at the rear of the house, because the noise of the carriage can't be heard so distinctly and it don't bother madame la baronne so much."

"'"Good," says I to myself, "the child's mother's a baroness--that's fine."

"'We went into a house, not a very handsome one, and up a dark staircase; then my companion took me into quite a handsome, well-furnished room. She told me to sit down and left me, to find out whether her baroness was ready to see me.

"'I waited quite a long time; at last she came back after me and took me 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."

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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}

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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.