Chapter IV: Preface (4)

Since their departure, the health of Mademoiselle Gerard had been constantly growing worse, she consequently became more fretful with every one except Nanette, of whom she was very fond, and who served her with zeal and intelligence. The only person who remained in the Château with her was the porter, an old servant named Dubois, a cross-grained, crabbed old man, though well enough disposed in the main. Mademoiselle Gerard, like the other servants, had frequently disputes with him, but as she was a sensible woman, these disputes were soon settled; now, however, that her temper became soured by illness, their disagreements increased in frequency and violence. It was part of Dubois' duty to supply her with everything she wanted, and when marketing for himself to buy what she required also. She was often discontented with his purchases, and, besides, if she asked for anything in the least out of the ordinary course, he told her it was too dear, and that Madame de Vesac would not permit such extravagance. Then Mademoiselle Gerard would cry, and bewail her misfortune in being left to the care of a man who would be the death of her. She had several times written to Madame de Vesac on the subject, who, well knowing her wishes to be unreasonable, endeavoured to calm her, and persuade her to wait patiently until her return; at the same time, she ordered Dubois not to vex her, as she was an invalid. Whenever the latter received these commands he became more ill-tempered than usual, because, he said, Mademoiselle Gerard had got him scolded by his mistress. At length their disagreements reached such a point, that Dubois would no longer enter the apartments of Mademoiselle Gerard, who, on her part, declared that, during the whole course of her life, she would never again speak to Dubois; so that she sent Nanette to get from him what she wanted. Poor little Nanette was often very much perplexed, as Mademoiselle Gerard, always dissatisfied with what Dubois sent her, never failed to break out into complaints whenever Nanette carried her the meat he had bought at the market, or the fruit and vegetables he had gathered in the garden. She declared he had chosen the very worst for her, and that he wanted to kill her; and such was her weakness on these occasions, that she would sometimes begin to cry. Nanette, who was very fond of her, was grieved at seeing her so much distressed, and would stand looking at her in perfect silence; then Mademoiselle Gerard would kiss her, and say, "If I were to die, who would take care of you?" for, in her weakness, she imagined there was no one in the world who would take an interest in Nanette but herself. The child returned her caresses, comforting her in her way, and assuring her that she would not die. She could not understand her friend's distress, but she would have done much to see her happy. But when Mademoiselle Gerard wanted to send her to Dubois to complain of what he had given her, she told her she dared not go, because on two or three occasions he had been so enraged with her that she was terribly frightened of him. Then she would repeat for the twentieth time what he had said the day she took back to him the decayed pears, and how, when she went to tell him that the slices of beet-root were bad, he flew into a furious passion, saying that servants were more difficult to please than their masters, then gave such a kick to his cupboard door, for the purpose of shutting it, and flung a carrot which he held in his hand with such violence across the room, that she ran away terrified, for fear of being beaten. She also repeated all that he had said about Mademoiselle Gerard herself, that he should never have a moment's peace so long as she was in the house, and that he would willingly give five pounds out of his own pocket, if she were only so far out of his way that he might never hear her name mentioned again. Then Mademoiselle Gerard became alarmed at his hatred, and could not endure the thought of remaining alone with him in the Château, saying that unless her mistress returned very soon she should be lost. If on these occasions Dubois happened to pass near her apartment, she ran to bolt and barricade the door, as if he were going to murder her. It was in moments of fever that these ideas took possession of her mind, and more especially in the evening, because the room occupied by Dubois was close to her own. The mere idea of having to pass the night so near him threw her into a frightful state of agitation. Nanette, without knowing why, shared in her alarm, and as soon as it began to get dusk she would run and bolt the doors. During the day they were more calm, and Nanette even amused herself by playing tricks upon Dubois.

He kept his fruit and other provisions in a room on the ground floor, one window of which looked upon the court-yard of the Château, and another into the poultry-yard. When the weather was fine, he used each morning to open the window that commanded the court-yard, go his rounds of the kitchen-garden and poultry-yard, and then return and close the window. Nanette had several times watched for the moment of his departure, and, taking advantage of his absence, had climbed to the window, entered the room, carried back the apples he had sent to Mademoiselle Gerard, and with which she was dissatisfied, and taken finer ones in their stead. She was careful whilst in the room to watch for Dubois through the window that looked into the poultry-yard, and the moment she caught a glimpse of him she made her escape. The first time this occurred, Mademoiselle Gerard gently reprimanded her for having gone through the window; but since her illness she had become too weak to be reasonable in anything, so that a few days later, being greatly annoyed at again receiving some apples which she declared were bad, she said to Nanette, "Could you not manage to get others for me?" Nanette desired nothing better, for she had been much amused with her first stratagem; she, therefore, again watched for Dubois' departure, clambered through the window, and accomplished her task with perfect success, and then diverted Mademoiselle Gerard, to whom her tricks had become a source of amusement, by mimicking the limping gait and surly expression of Dubois, as she had seen him returning in the distance. Nanette, who never took anything for herself, and even for her friend only made exchanges, did not feel the slightest scruple in respect to the propriety of her conduct; while to Mademoiselle Gerard, whose mind had become too far enfeebled to be capable of much reflection, it never occurred that she was encouraging the child in a bad habit, and exposing her to suspicion.

One day, when she had sent to Dubois for some dried grapes, she pretended, as usual, that he had chosen the worst for her, and, as children always see what they fancy they see, Nanette assured her that she had really observed him select the worst, and offered her good friend (as she always named Mademoiselle Gerard) to go and bring some better ones, from the cupboard in which she knew he always kept them locked up. Her friend consented, and Nanette having seen Dubois open the window and depart, started on her expedition. She got into the room, found the key of the cupboard, and began to make her selection. She was so busy that it did not occur to her that the door of the press concealed from her the window which looked upon the poultry-yard, and consequently, that she could not peep out as usual to see if Dubois were coming. Two or three times, indeed, she did interrupt her occupation, to go and look out, but not at the right moment, so that Dubois passed unperceived, and just when she considered herself perfectly safe, she heard a voice of thunder exclaiming, "Oh! you little thief; I have caught you, then!" and saw before the window the terrible Dubois, barring her passage. For the moment, she thought herself dead; but, fortunately, Dubois was too fat and too heavy to be able to get through the window: he could only overwhelm her with reproaches. Pale and trembling, her heart sinking with fright, she stood silent and motionless. But, at length, watching the moment when he went round to the door, she leaped through the window, and ran round the yard, pursued by Dubois, who, with vehement exclamations, endeavoured to reach her with his stick. Mademoiselle Gerard, hearing the noise, opened her window, and seeing the danger of her favourite, she lost all self-control, and screamed out, "Help! Help! Murder!" Dubois, furious, raised his eyes, and not knowing much better than herself what he was about, threatened her with his stick, and then recommenced his pursuit of Nanette, who by this time had gained the staircase. He mounted after her, and arrived at the moment when she and Mademoiselle Gerard were trying to shut the door; he pushed it open, and forced an entrance, almost upsetting Mademoiselle Gerard, who threw herself before Nanette, as if to prevent his touching her. Still more enraged by this movement, which seemed to imply that he intended to hurt the child, and worse in words than in deeds, he stopped, suffocated at once by anger and by his chase: then, recovering breath, he poured forth a volley of invectives, both against Nanette, whom he called a jade, and against Mademoiselle Gerard, whom he accused of encouraging her in stealing, and becoming a spy about the house. Mademoiselle Gerard, trembling at once with fear and indignation, told him that Nanette did not steal, that she only endeavoured to obtain something better than he had sent to _poison her_; that she was very unfortunate in being abandoned to a _monster_ like him, but that her mistress would soon be back, and do her justice for all this.

"O yes!" said Dubois, "count upon Madame's return, but before she comes back you will have time to set out for the other world!"

After this piece of brutality, which satisfied his passion, he left them. Mademoiselle Gerard fell down almost insensible; and the surgeon who attended her found her, on his arrival, in a high state of fever. He had, besides, just been informed of M. de Vesac's wound, and of the departure of his wife, and communicated this intelligence to Mademoiselle Gerard, who now perceived the import of Dubois' words; and the idea of having to remain perhaps for six months longer at the mercy of such a man, filled her mind with a terror and agitation which it was impossible to subdue. As her imagination was now disordered by fever, she said that Dubois would kill Nanette; and when the latter declared that she could never dare ask him for anything again, Mademoiselle Gerard expected nothing less than to be starved to death. She determined therefore to go to her brother, who was married and established as a shopkeeper in a neighbouring town. It was in vain that the surgeon endeavoured to oppose this caprice, by representing to her that she was too ill to be removed without danger. Her fever and agitation increased so much by contradiction, that he found it necessary to yield to her desire. He therefore sent to the farm for a horse and cart, settled her with as little inconvenience as possible, and thus accompanied by Nanette, and taking with her all her effects, she started for the town, where she arrived almost in a dying state.

She remained several days in this condition; then became a little better, but was still so feeble that she began to give up all hope of recovery. Wishing to dispose of the little property she possessed, she sent for a notary. Her whole wealth consisted in a sum of a thousand crowns, the fruit of her savings, and which, from her suspicious character, she had been afraid of placing out at interest, for fear of being cheated, and therefore always kept in her own possession. She left two thousand four hundred francs to her brother, and six hundred to Nanette, with part of her effects. Then, on learning from the surgeon his belief that Cecilia had remained in Paris, she wrote to inform her of the condition she was in, begging her to make it known to Madame de Vesac, and to ask what, in the event of her death, was to be done with Nanette. This was the letter which Cecilia's cousin threw into the fire. Mademoiselle Gerard receiving no reply, supposed that Cecilia had left Paris; and feeling herself growing daily worse, she got the clergyman who visited her to write a long letter to Madame de Vesac. In this letter she recommended Nanette to her care, and without complaining of Dubois, whom the clergyman had prevailed upon her to forgive, she explained to her mistress that Nanette was not a thief, as Dubois had accused her of being.

Soon after this letter had been despatched she died; and thus was poor Nanette left utterly friendless. Mademoiselle Gerard's brother and his wife were selfish people; they had been annoyed at the affection she manifested for Nanette, because they were afraid she would leave her whatever she possessed. They supposed she must have amassed a considerable sum of money, and were confirmed in this opinion, when the day after her death they discovered in her apartment the thousand crowns. Knowing that she had made a will, the husband hastened to the notary, eager to learn its contents; and when it was opened in his presence he was very much astonished, and extremely dissatisfied, at finding that instead of being left a considerable legacy, as he expected, he should be obliged to give Nanette six hundred francs out of the thousand crowns, of which he had already taken possession. He returned home and communicated his information to his wife, who, being still more selfish than himself, was more enraged. She overwhelmed with abuse poor little Nanette, who, quite unconscious of what it all meant, remained terrified and motionless on the spot. Whilst giving vent to her passion the woman continued to arrange and sweep out her shop, and being near Nanette, she struck her with the broom, as if to make her get out of the way. The child ran crying to another corner of the shop. The broom which kept on its course seemed to pursue her; she jumped over it, and went to another part of the room, still it was after her. The activity of the shopkeeper seemed to increase with Nanette's terrors, and every movement she made was accompanied by threatening and abusive language. At length, not knowing where to fly for safety, the poor child ran to the threshold of the door; the woman pushed her out with her broom, saying, "Yes! yes! be off, you may be quite sure I shall not take the trouble to run after you;" and she closed the door upon her. Nanette remained for some time crying outside. At length, hearing some one about to open the door, and thinking it was her persecutor coming out to beat her, she ran off as fast as she could.

The street in which she happened to be led to the entrance of the town; when she had advanced some distance into the country she sat down upon a stone, and, still crying, began to eat a piece of bread, the remains of her breakfast, which she happened to have in her hand at the moment of her expulsion from the shop. A little boy came up to her, and asked what was the matter. Nanette at first made no reply; he repeated his question, and she told him that she did not know where to go.

"Come with me to Dame Lapie's," said the little fellow.

"Who is Dame Lapie?" demanded Nanette.

"Why Dame Lapie; she lives in the village yonder, but just now she is begging on the high road. Come along," and he wanted to take Nanette by the hand, but she drew back. The little boy was dirty and ragged, and Nanette had been accustomed to neatness. Moreover the sorrow she had endured the previous day, the death of her protector, the abuse of the shopkeeper's wife, and her own precipitate flight, had quite bewildered her, as is nearly always the case with children when anything extraordinary is passing around them. At those times, not knowing what to do, they remain in one spot, without coming to any decision. Nanette sat there on her stone without knowing what was to become of her, because at that moment her mind was not sufficiently clear to enable her to decide on leaving it. After several fruitless attempts to induce her to accompany him, the little boy left her, and Nanette remained still seated on the stone. Some time after, however, on looking towards the town, she saw a woman approaching, whom she mistook for the shopkeeper; she became afraid, got up, and again went on, still following the high road.

She walked for a full hour, without knowing whither she went, when at a turn in the road she perceived an old woman sitting at the foot of a tree, and surrounded by five or six little children, of from two to four years of age. The little boy who had spoken to her, and who might be about seven or eight, was standing talking to the old woman. The moment he perceived Nanette he pointed her out, saying, "See, there she is, that is her." Nanette crossed over to the other side of the road, for she was afraid of every one, but the old woman rose and went to her. Nanette would have run away, but the woman took her by the hand, spoke gently to her, and told her not to be frightened, for she would do her no harm. Nanette looked at her, felt reassured by her kind expression of countenance, and told her that she had run away from the town because they wanted to beat her.

"It is your mother who wanted to beat you," said Dame Lapie; "well never mind, we will settle that; come, we will go and ask her to forgive you, and then she will not beat you;" saying this, she made a movement as if wishing to lead her back to the town. Nanette, terrified, began to scream and struggle, saying that it was not her mother, and that she would not return to the town. "Well, then, we will not go, you shall come with us," but Nanette still struggled to withdraw her hand; Dame Lapie let it go, and as Nanette went on, contented herself with following and talking to her. "Who will give you anything to eat to-day?" she demanded. Nanette, crying, replied, "I don't know." "Where will you sleep to-night?" asked Dame Lapie. "I don't know," said Nanette, still crying. "Come with me," continued Dame Lapie, "I promise you we will not return to the town." "Come with us," said the little boy, who had also followed her, and Nanette at last suffered herself to be persuaded. Dame Lapie led her back to the foot of the tree, gave her a piece of black bread and an apple, and while eating it, for she was beginning to feel hungry, she recovered her calmness a little.

Dame Lapie was an old woman to whom the people of the village intrusted their children, whilst they went to work in the fields. She had always five or six, whom she went for in the morning, and took home again at night. The little boy who had spoken to Nanette, and whose name was Jeannot, was one of those she had taken care of in this way. His parents dying whilst he was very young, Dame Lapie would not abandon him, but not being able to support him herself, she sent him to beg. She herself also went, and sat by the road-side, with the little children around her, and asked alms of the passers by; and the parents of the children were either ignorant of this, or did not trouble themselves about it, especially as Dame Lapie always shared with the little ones whatever she obtained.

Jeannot seeing Dame Lapie receiving children every day, imagined that all who had no homes ought to go to her; and therefore he had sought to lead Nanette to her; and the dame, meeting with a little girl neatly clad, wandering about alone, without knowing where she went, was persuaded, notwithstanding Nanette's assertions that she had run away from her mother, to whom she should be rendering a service by restoring her. She intended, therefore, as soon as she had learned from Nanette who were her parents, to go and see them, promising to restore their daughter, on condition that they would not beat her, for Dame Lapie could not bear the idea of having children ill treated, or even annoyed. Meanwhile, when she returned at night to the village, she made Nanette accompany her, and gave her two of the children to lead; this amused Nanette, but she was not quite so much diverted, when at night the dame had nothing to give her for supper but the same kind of black bread which she had had for dinner, and this too without the apple. Neither did she feel much inclined to sleep with Dame Lapie, whose bed was very disagreeable; still it was necessary, and she slept very soundly after all. Jeannot, as usual, slept upon some straw in a corner of the hut.

During the night, Dame Lapie was seized with so violent an attack of rheumatism that she could not move a limb; and, as she was unable to go to the town, she told Nanette that she must return home to her mother. Nanette again began to cry, saying that her mother did not live in the town, that her good friend was dead, and that there remained no one but of her good friend's sister, and she wanted to beat her; she did not allude to the Château, for she was still more afraid of Dubois than of the shopkeeper. Dame Lapie asked where her mother was, but Nanette scarcely remembered the name of her native village; everything she said on the subject was so confused, and she cried so much, that the old woman could make nothing out, and resolved to let the matter rest for the present. On several occasions, during the following days, she renewed her questions, but always with the same result; and, too ill to insist much on the matter, she determined, as soon as she was better, to go to the town and make inquiries herself.

Nanette, meanwhile, rendered her a thousand little services; she was gentle and attentive, and delighted in giving pleasure. The constant attention required by Mademoiselle Gerard had rendered her alive to the wants of sick people. She also took care of the little children, who were always brought to Dame Lapie's, and, accompanied by Jeannot, went out with them upon the road. Jeannot did all he could to cheer her; but she was sad. She remembered the good dinners she had with Mademoiselle Gerard, and the black bread became distasteful to her; nevertheless, there was nothing else for her, and not always enough even of that. On one occasion, she was obliged to go to bed supperless, and passed a part of the night in crying; but so as not to be heard by Dame Lapie, because, whenever the dame saw her crying from hunger, she scolded her, and asked her why she did not go and beg like Jeannot.

The winter had passed; the spring was very wet; and when it rained, the water penetrated into Dame Lapie's hut, which was somewhat below the level of the street. This rendered it very unhealthy. It was also unhealthy for Nanette to sleep with this old woman, who was an invalid. Nanette was naturally of a delicate constitution, and the misery in which her infancy had been passed left her in a state of but very moderate health at the time she was taken by Madame de Vesac. Under the care of Mademoiselle Gerard, she recovered her strength, but not sufficiently to enable her to bear the present relapse into misery. If Jeannot was able to endure the same inconveniences, it was because he was of a strong, lively, and active temperament, which prevented him from yielding to depression; whereas Nanette, mild, quiet, and even a little inclined to indolence, gave way to discouragement and sadness--a thing which always increases our troubles. Jeannot besides was a favourite with the neighbours; every one caressed him, and gave him something; but they had been greatly displeased by the arrival of Nanette, and thought it very wrong of Dame Lapie to take charge of a child of whom she knew nothing, and who, they said, was only an additional beggar in the village; so that not unfrequently, when Nanette went into the streets, she heard the women and children crying out against her. Under the combined influence of grief, unwholesome food, and want of cleanliness, Nanette soon fell ill. She was seized with a fever, and in the course of a few days became dreadfully changed. Dame Lapie, who was now able to leave her bed, and attend to the children, told her that, as she could not beg, she must at least go with Jeannot, who would beg for her; and that she would get the more when it was seen that she was so ill. Jeannot, who was much more quick and shrewd than Nanette, led her by the hand, and she suffered him to do so, for she had no longer the strength to resist anything. When they reached a spot where they could be seen by those who passed along the road, she seated herself on a stone, or at the foot of a tree, and Jeannot solicited alms for his little sister who was ill; and, indeed, she looked so ill and so unhappy, that she excited commiseration, and obtained for Jeannot additional contributions.

Meantime, Cecilia carried into execution her determination of writing to Mademoiselle Gerard; but as she, of course, addressed her letter to the Château, it was received by Dubois, who for some days had no opportunity of forwarding it to the town, and in the interval learned that Mademoiselle Gerard was dead. He was then grieved at having treated her with so much brutality the day before her departure; but as for Nanette, when told that she had run away from the shopkeeper's, and had not since been heard of, he took no further trouble in the matter, quite satisfied in his own mind that she was a thief, and that they were very fortunate to be rid of her. Of all these matters he sent an account to Madame de Vesac; but her husband having recovered and returned to active service, she had just left for Paris, and neither received this letter nor the one sent to her by Mademoiselle Gerard a few days prior to her death, and which, having passed through Paris, had been delayed a considerable time on the way. Madame de Vesac stayed only a few days at the capital, and then set out with her daughter for her country-seat, ignorant of all that had lately happened there. She had made inquiries of Cecilia respecting Mademoiselle Gerard; and Cecilia being unable to give her any information, was obliged to confess her negligence. Her mother severely reprimanded her, though little imagining the misfortunes this negligence had produced.

They were four days on their journey, and while changing horses at the last post but one, Cecilia descended from the carriage, and leaving the yard of the inn, went to breathe the fresh air on the high road. Immediately a little boy came towards her, asking charity for his little sister who was ill, at the same time pointing her out to Cecilia, who, in fact, beheld a little girl seated on the ground, with a dying look, and her head leaning against a stone; at that moment she was sleeping; her clothes were in rags, and so dirty, that their colour could scarcely be distinguished. Cecilia, while looking at her, was seized with pity, and struck by her resemblance to Nanette; but it never occurred to her that it could be Nanette. Just then she was called, and giving the little boy a penny, telling him it was for his sister, she returned to the carriage, her mind filled with the thought of the poor little girl she had just seen; yet she did not dare to speak of her to her mother, fearing that by recalling the memory of Nanette she might revive those reproaches which her conscience told her she deserved. What, then, was her consternation, when, on arriving at the Château, she was informed of the death of Mademoiselle Gerard, and the disappearance of Nanette. While Dubois was relating these particulars, Madame de Vesac fixed her eyes upon her daughter, who at one moment looked at her with an expression of great anxiety, and at the next cast down her eyes ashamed. As soon as Dubois had left the room, Cecilia, pale and trembling, with clasped hands, and a look of despair, said to her mother, "Oh! mamma, if it was that little girl I saw close to the post-house, who looked as if she were dying." Her mother asked her what grounds she had for such an idea. Cecilia informed her, and, while doing so, wept bitterly; for the more she thought of the subject, the less doubt did she entertain of its being poor little Nanette. "I am sure I recognised her," she continued; "and now I remember that she wore the blue dress I gave her. It was all torn, and I could scarcely tell the colour; but it was the same, I am sure. Poor little Nanette!" And with this, she redoubled her tears. She entreated that some one might be sent immediately to the inn, to make inquiries; but it was then too late in the day, and she dreaded lest the delay of a few hours should render Nanette so much worse as to be past recovery. Her agitation increased every moment. Madame de Vesac gave orders that the following morning, as soon as it was light, some one should go to the post-house, to ascertain if the people knew anything of the little girl who was begging at the door on the previous day. Cecilia passed a sleepless night, and rose the next morning before daybreak; and she was awaiting the return of the messenger even before he had started. He did return at last, but without any information. Nanette had never before been at the inn, and the people had not noticed her, and were at a loss to understand the object of all these inquiries. Cecilia was in hopes she would return there during the day, and a messenger was again sent to inquire; but Nanette did not make her appearance, for the post-house was situated at a considerable distance from the village in which Dame Lapie lived; and, in her feeble and suffering condition, the walk had so much exhausted her that she found it impossible to return. "Oh, mamma," exclaimed Cecilia, "perhaps she is dead." At that moment she felt all the anguish of the most dreadful remorse; her agitation almost threw her into a fever. Inquiries were made in the town; and the shopkeeper's wife stated that Nanette had run away, and no one knew what had become of her. The neighbours were also applied to; and they, disliking the sister-in-law of Mademoiselle Gerard, and having heard of the will, said, that to avoid paying the six hundred francs to Nanette, she was quite capable of forcing her, by her ill treatment, to run away, and that perhaps even she had turned her out of doors. To this were added conjectures and rumours, some declaring that a little girl had been met one night in the fields, almost perished with cold; others saying that one had been found on the high road, nearly starved to death; but when questioned further on the point, no one could tell who had seen this little girl, nor what had become of her; for these were only false reports, such as are always circulated in cases of disaster. Cecilia, however, believed them, and they threw her into despair. At this time, Mademoiselle Gerard's letter reached them; it contained a complete justification of Nanette, whom Dubois persisted in regarding as a thief; it also proved that, if Cecilia had written immediately on the receipt of her first letter, Nanette would not have been lost. This redoubled Cecilia's distress. To complete it, there arrived another letter, bearing the post-mark of the village in which Nanette's mother lived. It was written by the clergyman, at the poor woman's request. In this letter, she said that they had several times heard--but not until it was too late,--that Madame de Vesac had passed by. This had very much grieved her, as she would have been glad to have seen her daughter for a moment; but she was told that Nanette was not with them, and feeling extremely uneasy, she entreated Mademoiselle Cecilia--to whom the letter was addressed--to send her some intelligence of her child. The clergyman concluded by saying: "God will bless you, my dear young lady, because you do not abandon the poor." This letter pierced Cecilia to the heart. She grew thin with grief and anxiety; every time the door opened, she fancied there was some news of Nanette. Her eyes were constantly directed towards the avenue, as if she expected to see her coming; and at night she woke up with a start at the slightest noise, as if it announced her return. At last her mother resolved that they would themselves make inquiries in all the neighbouring villages, and speak to all the clergymen, although still fearing that they were too late. They therefore set out one afternoon, and as they approached a village, but a short distance from the town, Cecilia, who was anxiously looking in every direction, uttered a cry, exclaiming, "Mamma, mamma, that's her! there she is! I see her! I see the same little boy!" and she caught hold of the coachman's coat, to make him stop the quicker, and darting out of the carriage, rushed towards Nanette, who was lying on the ground, with her head leaning against a tree, seeming scarcely able to breathe. Cecilia threw herself on the ground by her side, spoke to her, raised her up, and kissed her. Nanette recognised her, and began to weep; Cecilia wept also, and taking her upon her knees, she caressed her, called her her dear Nanette, her poor little Nanette. The child looked at her with astonishment, while a faint flush animated her cheeks. Madame de Vesac soon reached the spot. Cecilia wanted to have Nanette put instantly into the carriage, and taken home; but Madame de Vesac questioned Jeannot, who stood staring in the utmost astonishment, utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw. While Cecilia was arranging Nanette in the carriage, Madame de Vesac, conducted by Jeannot, went to Dame Lapie's cottage. The old woman was sitting at her door, still unable to walk, and related all she knew about the child. Madame de Vesac gave her some money, and returned to Cecilia, who was dying with impatience to see Nanette home, and in a comfortable bed. She got there at last. Cecilia nursed her with the greatest care, and for a whole week never left her bedside, frequently rising in the night to ascertain how she was. At last the surgeon pronounced her out of danger; but it was long before she was restored to health, and still longer before she recovered from the sort of stupidity into which she had been thrown by such a series of misfortunes and suffering. When quite well, Cecilia was desirous of resuming her education with more regularity than formerly; but this education had now become still more difficult than at first, and Cecilia could no longer assume her former authority; for, whenever she was going to scold Nanette, she remembered how much she had suffered through her negligence, and dared not say a word. She felt that to have the right of doing to others all the good we wish, and of ordering what may be useful to them, we must never have done them any injury. She therefore sent Nanette to school, and economized her allowance, in order to be able afterwards to apprentice her to a business. The brother of Mademoiselle Gerard was made to refund the six hundred francs; but Cecilia desired that the sum might be kept for a marriage portion for Nanette, when she was grown up. Madame de Vesac gave Jeannot a suit of clothes; and Dame Lapie had permission to send every week to the château for vegetables. Madame de Vesac spent not only this summer, but the winter also, and the following summer, in the country; so that Nanette had time to learn to read, and make some progress in writing. This was a source of great joy to Cecilia, who, for some time, feared that her mind was totally stupified. In conversing on the subject with her mother, after she had been relieved of all anxiety in regard to it, Madame de Vesac said to her: "We never know what injury we may do when we confer favours heedlessly and solely for our own pleasure, and without being willing to give ourselves any trouble. This is not the way to do good. Those whom you neglect, after having led them to expect assistance, find, when you have abandoned them, that they had calculated upon you, and are now without resource; so that you have done them more harm than if you had never aided them."

THREE CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF NADIR.