Chapter II: Part I: I (2)

“In truth,” he said, “my son is not making any progress. He is taking on a yellowish color that surprises me, for both his mother and I are very white. Ah! my poor Jasmin, I am beginning to think that we should have children when we are young, because then they inherit our strength.”

“Nonsense, monsieur! You are strong enough! You are a perfect horse when you choose! Our Chérubin was magnificent when he was born, as you must remember. If he is doing badly now, it’s only because he doesn’t eat enough. Madame fondles him and pets him--that’s all very well; but perhaps the little rascal would prefer some wine and a cutlet.”

“A cutlet! Are you mad, Jasmin? Whoever heard of giving cutlets to children three months old?”

“Perhaps it would be better for them than milk, no one knows. If I was a nurse, I’d try the experiment.”

“In truth, Jasmin, you recall to my mind the fact that the grandfather of our good Henri IV gave his son wine to drink a few moments after he was born; and it did the child no harm; far from it, for Henri IV was a regular devil in every way. Judging from that, I believe that my son, who is past three months, might safely swallow a drop of generous wine.”

“Surely, monsieur, wine can never do any harm, and you have such good wine! Our little Chérubin, instead of turning yellow, will become a very devil like the great king; and if with that you would venture to let him suck a cutlet----”

“The wine will be enough, with a little beef juice perhaps. If only madame la marquise will consent to let the child change his food!”

“Why, look you, monsieur, the little fellow is our son, after all! If madame doesn’t give him enough to eat, we have the right to do as we please. Deuce take it! A man doesn’t have a child every day, and if you should have to try it over again, I think that----”

“Yes, Jasmin, yes, I will be firm. As my heir’s welfare is at stake, I will show my strength of character.”

And monsieur le marquis, rising from his couch, betook himself to his wife’s apartment, leaning on the arm of Jasmin, who repeated constantly on the way:

“Give him wine to drink, monsieur, give him some good strong soups to eat, and I will bet that within a month he will have recovered his five ounces!”

Madame de Grandvilain had not dared to confess to her husband that she had no milk to give their son; she had bought nursing bottles, and when the marquis was not there, the child was given the bottle; but as soon as his father arrived, she played nurse again, and little Chérubin was given a sterile bosom, which supplied him with no nourishment.

When Monsieur de Grandvilain unexpectedly entered madame’s chamber, as she was not looking for her husband at that moment, she did not have time to put the bottle out of the way, and Chérubin was still attached to it.

“What’s this, my dear love?” said monsieur le marquis, scrutinizing what his son was sucking.

“My dear,” said madame, sorely confused, “it’s a supplement.”

“A supplement! The deuce, my dear love, you use a supplement, and without letting me know?”

“My dear, there are times when my milk doesn’t flow freely, and we must not let this dear little fellow suffer on that account.”

“Certainly not, madame, but if you had only confessed to me sooner that you use a supplement, I, for my part, should not have hesitated to tell you that I wished to change our son’s diet. He is not making progress, marchioness, that is evident. I believe that milk is not what he needs. I am less surprised since I find that it is not yours. In short, I propose to try another method; I propose to give my son wine to drink.”

“Wine, my dear! Can you think of such a thing! A child of three months!”

“Who was magnificent when he came into the world, and who is visibly pining away with your bottle. I will give him claret, that is a mild and generous wine. If that works well, later we will try burgundy.”

“But, monsieur, on the contrary, the very lightest things, ass’s milk, is what Chérubin needs!”

“Ass’s milk for my son! Fie, madame! I will not listen to such a thing. Can it be that you would like to make an ass of him? He shall drink wine.”

“He shall drink milk.”

For the first time the husband and wife quarrelled, and neither of them would give way.

Monsieur de Grandvilain took his son in his arms, carried him to his room, ordered Jasmin to bring a bottle of old claret, and gave some spoonfuls of it to his heir.

The child swallowed the wine without making too wry a face; in a few moments his little cheeks flushed, and the old valet, who was assisting his master to pour wine into little Chérubin, exclaimed:

“Look, monsieur le marquis, look! already our son’s color is coming back! He is better already, and recovering his strength. Oh! what an excellent idea it was to give him wine! Let us go on, master. He turns his eyes toward us; I think that he wants some more.”

Monsieur de Grandvilain thought that it was better to be prudent the first time and not to make the dose too large; so he returned to his wife and gave her the child, saying:

“Madame, Chérubin is better already; his color has come back and his eyes shine like diamonds. I shall continue what I have begun to-day, and you will see that our heir will be the better for it.”

Madame made no reply, but as soon as her husband had left the room, she called Turlurette and said to her:

“Dear Turlurette, just see what a state they have put this poor little fellow in! He smells frightfully of wine, and I believe that he is tipsy!”

“Why, yes, he really is, madame,” cried the stout girl, after smelling the child. “That old idiot of a Jasmin is responsible for all this; he’s a sot himself, and he would like to make everybody drink, even a nursing child. If you take my advice, madame, you will give the child some syrup of ipecac. That will make him throw up the wine; it will purge him.”

“No, Turlurette, no! I am afraid of doing my son an injury, and of angering monsieur le marquis. But I am going to give the dear little fellow some ass’s milk, and that will correct the ill effects of the wine.”

The ass’s milk was offered to the child in the bottle. Little Chérubin drank it without objection, for he had an excellent disposition; he accepted whatever was offered him, so that the important thing was to offer him what would be good for him.

This system of nourishment was continued for several days. The marquis gave his son wine to drink and madame gave him ass’s milk. The child was very red when he left his father’s hands, but he became very pale again with his mother. They soon discovered that the dear boy was out of order, and stout Turlurette added the syringe to all the other remedies; and Jasmin, determined at all risks to fatten the little Grandvilain, gave him a piece of pie crust, or a slice of sausage, as soon as he was left alone with him.

Before little Chérubin had been on this diet of ass’s milk, pie crust and syringes a month, instead of growing fat, he was in a shocking condition. The marchioness wept, and Monsieur de Grandvilain decided to send for a doctor. After examining the child and learning all that they had been doing to nourish him, the doctor exclaimed in a very severe tone:

“Allow me to inform you that, if you go on like this, in a week you will not have any child.”

The marchioness sobbed, the marquis turned green, and they both cried in one breath:

“What must we do, doctor, to restore our child’s health?”

“What must you do? Why give him a nurse, a good nurse, and send him into the country with her, and leave him there a long while, a very long while; that’s what you must do, and at once, this very day; you have no time to waste if you want to preserve the life of this child.”

The tone in which the doctor spoke admitted no reply; luckily their love for the child was above all self-esteem, so they were fain to agree that they had done wrong, and to obey in all haste.

The marquis sent all his people in search of a nurse. The marchioness herself went about among her acquaintances, asking for information and advice; but the time passed, and those who were well recommended could not be obtained at once. As evening approached, they had not succeeded in finding a nurse; the marchioness and her husband embraced their child and had no idea what to give him, as they dared not continue to feed him as they had been doing.

Suddenly Jasmin appeared with a fresh, buxom, red-cheeked peasant woman, exclaiming:

“I have found what we want, I think; if she doesn’t bring our little one back to life, faith, I will have nothing more to do with it.”

The nurse whom Jasmin had brought had such an attractive face and seemed to enjoy such excellent health that they were prepossessed in her favor. Madame de Grandvilain uttered a joyful cry and handed her child to the peasant woman, who presented her bosom to him; he took it greedily, like one who had found what he needed.

The marquis tapped Jasmin on the shoulder, saying:

“You are an invaluable fellow! How did you go to work to discover this excellent nurse?”

“How did I go to work, monsieur? Why, I just went to the office, on Rue Sainte-Apolline, and asked for a nurse; I saw nurses of all colors, and I chose this one. That’s all the difficulty there was about it.”

What Jasmin had done was the simplest thing to do, but ordinarily the simplest thing is what nobody thinks of doing.

Little Chérubin’s nurse was from Gagny, and as the doctor’s orders were definite, she returned to her village the next morning, carrying with her a superb layette, money, gifts, strict orders, and her little nursling.

V

THE VILLAGE OF GAGNY

Gagny is a pretty village near Villemonble, of which it is a sort of continuation, and is a little nearer Paris than Montfermeil. When I say that it is a pretty village, I do not mean by that that the streets are very straight and well paved, and that all the houses have a uniform, comfortable, or even elegant aspect; in that case, it would resemble a small provincial town, and would not be the country with its picturesqueness and its freedom from constraint.

What I like in a village is the mixture of architectural styles, the very irregularity of the buildings, which is such a pleasant change from the monotony of the streets of a capital. What I like to see in a village is the farmhouse and all its outbuildings, the pond in which ducks are splashing, the dung-heap with the hens pecking about it; and then the cottage of the well-to-do peasant, who has had his shutters painted green, and who allows the vines to climb all about the windows; the thatched roof of a laborer not far from the fine house of a wealthy bourgeois; the charming villa of one of our Parisian celebrities; the humble dwelling of the market gardener; the schoolhouse, the church and its belfry; and in the midst of all these, tall trees, paths bordered by hedges of elderberry or wild fruit; hens and roosters strutting fearlessly before the house; ruddy-cheeked, merry, healthy children playing in the middle of the streets or squares, with nothing to fear from carriages and omnibuses; and even the odor of the cow barn, when I pass by a dairyman’s place; because all these remind you that you are really in the country; and when you truly love the country, you have a sense of well-being, a feeling of happiness, the effects of which you at once realize without any need to try to explain them--effects which you owe to the pure air which you breathe, to the rustic scenes which rest your eyes, and to the pleasant freedom which you enjoy!

Gagny offers you all these things. Situated as it is near Raincy, the forest of Bondy, and the lovely woods of Montfermeil, and only a short distance from the Marne, whose banks are delightful, especially near Nogent and Gournay,--in whichever direction you turn your steps when you leave the village, you find charming walks and beautiful views. The neighborhood is embellished by some lovely estates: Maison Rouge, Maison Blanche, and the pretty little château of L’Horloge, flanked by towers and battlements, which represents in miniature--but in a highly flattered miniature--the abodes of the ancient feudal lords. Such is the village of Gagny, which sees every day one more beautiful and comfortable house built in its neighborhood, where, during the summer, charming women from Paris, artists, scholars or tradesmen, come to seek repose from the constant activity of the capital.

I observe that I have been describing Gagny as it is to-day, whereas it was in the year 1819 that little Chérubin, son of the Marquis de Grandvilain, was taken there. But after all, the aspect of the village has not changed, except for some fine houses which did not then exist, but which are universally admired to-day.

Let us make the acquaintance first of all of the villagers to whose house our hero was taken.

You know that the nurse who had carried Chérubin away was a buxom peasant with a fresh round face, and a solid figure, whose corsets indicated a sufficient supply of food for four marquises and as many plebeians; but what you do not know is that her name was Nicole Frimousset, that she was twenty-eight years old, and had three little boys, and a husband who drove her to despair, although he was a model of obedience and submission to her will.

Jacquinot Frimousset was of the same age as his wife; he was a stout, well-built fellow, with broad shoulders and a sturdy, shapely leg; his round red face, his heavy eyebrows, his bright black eyes, his white, even teeth would have done credit to a gentleman from the city. Frimousset was a handsome youth, and seemed to give promise of becoming a husband capable of fulfilling all the duties which marriage imposes. Peasant women are not insensible to physical advantages; indeed it is said that there are ladies--very great ladies--who attach much value to such bagatelles.

Nicole, who had some property, and a dowry of goodly proportion, could not lack aspirants; she selected Jacquinot Frimousset, and all the women in the village exclaimed that Nicole was not squeamish; which meant doubtless that they too would have been glad to marry Frimousset. But there is an old proverb which declares that appearances are deceitful. There are many people who do not choose to believe in proverbs! Those people make a great mistake. Erasmus said:

“Of all forms of knowledge, there is none older than that of proverbs; they were like so many symbols which formed the philosophical code of the early ages; they are the compendium of human verities.”

Aristotle agreed with Erasmus; he thought that proverbs were the remains of the old philosophy destroyed by the wearing effect of time; and that, these sentences having been preserved by reason of their conciseness, far from disdaining them, we should reflect upon them with care, and search after their meaning.

Chrysippus and Cleanthes wrote at great length in favor of proverbs. Theophrastus composed a whole volume upon that subject. Among the famous men who have discussed it are Aristides and Clearchus, disciples of Aristotle; and Pythagoras wrote symbols which Erasmus ranks with proverbs; and Plutarch, in his _Apothegms_, collected the wise remarks of the Greeks.

We might proceed to cite all the authors of modern times who have written in favor of proverbs, but that would carry us too far, and we fancy that you will prefer to return to Chérubin’s nurse.

Nicole had never heard of Erasmus, or of Aristotle; we have met people in the city who have no knowledge concerning those philosophers, and are none the worse off for that. As a general rule, we should not carry the study of antiquity too far; what we know about the past often prevents us from being well informed concerning what is going on to-day.

Nicole soon perceived that when she married Jacquinot she did not feather her nest very well. The handsome peasant was lazy, careless; in short, a do-nothing in every sense of the term. Three days after her marriage, Nicole sighed when she was congratulated upon her choice.

But Frimousset had that rustic cunning which knows how to disguise its inclinations, its faults, beneath an air of good-humor and frankness which deceives many people. His wife was lively, active, hard-working; it required very little time for him to learn her character. Far from thwarting her in anything, Frimousset seemed to be the most docile, the most compliant husband in the village; but he carried his servility to a point which finally irritated Nicole, and that was the very thing he counted upon.

For instance, in the morning, while his wife was attending to the housework, Jacquinot, after eating a hearty breakfast, would say to her:

“What do you want me to do now, Nicole?”

And Nicole would reply quickly:

“It seems to me that there’s work enough to do! There’s our field to plow, and the stones and stumps to be taken out of the piece by the road, and the garden to be planted. Ain’t that work enough?”

“Yes, yes!” Frimousset would reply, shaking his head; “I know well enough that it ain’t work that’s lacking; but where shall I begin--in the field, or the pasture, or the garden? I am waiting for you to tell me; you know very well that I want to do just what you want me to.”

“My word! what nonsense! Don’t you know enough to know what there’s most hurry about?”

“Why no! Don’t I tell you that I want you to give me orders as to what I shall do; I want to do my best to please you, my little wife.”

“Do whatever you want to, and let me alone.”

Frimousset would ask no further questions; when by dint of being submissive he had irritated his wife, she never failed to say: “Do whatever you please and let me alone.” Thereupon Nicole’s husband would go off to the wine-shop and pass the day there. Nicole would look in vain for him in the pasture and the garden, and at night, when he came home to supper she would ask:

“Where on earth have you been working? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

And Jacquinot would reply in a cajoling tone:

“Faith, you wouldn’t tell me what work to begin on, and I was afraid of doing something wrong; I didn’t want to do anything without your orders.”

With a man of Frimousset’s stamp, comfort, when it exists, soon gives place to straitened circumstances, and then to poverty; among the small as among the great, there is no fortune which is large enough to withstand disorder. After five years of married life, Nicole was obliged to sell her field and her pasture, all because Monsieur Jacquinot never knew where to begin when it was a question of working.

Meanwhile Nicole had seen her family increased by three small boys, healthy boys with excellent appetites. Three children more and several pieces of land less could not bring comfort to Frimousset’s home. Then it was that Nicole conceived the idea of becoming a nurse; and as the peasant was as active and determined as her husband was lazy and shiftless, her plan was soon carried out.

And that was why Jasmin, when he went to Rue Sainte-Apolline, to the Nurses’ Bureau, had found the peasant from Gagny, whom he had selected because of her pleasant face, and whom he had carried in triumph to his master, the Marquis de Grandvilain.

Nicole was an excellent woman, and she became sincerely attached to the child that was placed in her charge; she took him as soon as he cried, and was never weary of giving him the breast and of dancing him in her arms; she took care too that he should always be neat and clean. But the peasant woman was a mother too; she had three _gas_--that is what she called them,--and despite all her affection for her nursling, it was to her _gas_ that Nicole gave the sweetmeats, the preserves, the biscuit and the gingerbread of which Madame la Marquise de Grandvilain had not failed to give her an abundant supply, urging her not to spare them, never to deny Chérubin anything, and to send to her for other delicacies when those should be exhausted.

Luckily for Chérubin, Nicole did not follow to the letter the instructions that were given her. As one is a mother before being a nurse, the peasant woman necessarily had more affection for her children than for her foster-child. She gave milk to the latter, while the others stuffed themselves with dainties, candy and gingerbread, which soon upset their health, whereas, on the contrary, little Grandvilain became fresh and rosy and plump and hearty.

The coming of the nursling placed the Frimousset household upon its feet once more. Nicole had asked for thirty francs a month, but the marquis had said to her:

“Just let my son get well, let him recover his health, and I will give you twice that!”

And Jacquinot, who had more time than ever to idle away and to spend in the wine-shop, because his wife, being occupied with her nursling, could not keep an eye upon him, exclaimed every day:

“My eye, Nicole, that was a mighty good idea of yours to be a nurse! If you only had three or four little brats like this, we should be mighty well off, I tell you!”

And Chérubin’s little foster-brothers, who did nothing but eat sweetmeats and gingerbread, were also delighted that their mother had a nursling who provided them with so many good things, thanks to which they were constantly ill.

Chérubin had been at his nurse’s house only six weeks, when, on a fine day in autumn, a fashionable carriage stopped on the public square of Gagny, which square is not absolutely beautiful, although the guardhouse has been built there.

A vehicle which does not resemble a cart is always an object of wonderment in a village. Five or six women, several old men, several peasants, and a multitude of children assembled about the carriage, and were gazing at it with curiosity, when a window was lowered and a man’s head appeared.

Instantly a low murmur and a sneering laugh or two were heard among the bystanders, together with such remarks as these, not all of which were uttered in undertones:

“Oh! how ugly he is!”--”Oh! what a face!”--”Is it legal to be as ugly as that, when you have a carriage?”--”Upon my word! I’d rather go afoot!”--”That fellow hasn’t been vaccinated!”

There were other reflections of the same sort, which might have reached the ears of him who suggested them, and which it would have been more polite to make in a low tone; but politeness is not the favorite virtue of the peasants of the suburbs of Paris.

Luckily, the man who had put his head out of the window was a little hard of hearing, and, besides, he was not a man to lose his temper for such trifles; on the contrary, assuming a smiling expression, he said, bowing to the assemblage:

“Which of you, my good people, can direct me to Nicole Frimousset’s house? I know well enough that it’s on a street leading into the square, but that is all I know.”

“Nicole Frimousset!” said a peasant about half seas over, who had just come from one wine-shop and was about to enter another; “she’s my wife, Nicole is; I am Jacquinot Frimousset, her husband; what do you want of my wife?”

“What do we want of her? Parbleu! we’ve come to see the little one that we’ve placed in her charge, and to find out how he is, the dear child.”

“The deuce! it’s monsieur le marquis!” cried Jacquinot, removing his hat and throwing several children to the ground in order to reach the carriage more quickly. “Excuse me, monsieur le marquis; you see, I didn’t know you. I’ll show you the way; that’s our street over there; it’s up hill, but you’ve got good horses.”

And Jacquinot ran ahead of the carriage, shouting at the top of his lungs, and trying to dance.

“Here’s little Chérubin’s father! Here’s the Marquis de Grandvilain, coming to our house! Ah! I’m going to drink his health.”

The man who was in the carriage answered:

“No, I am not the marquis, I am Jasmin, his first valet; and mademoiselle who is with me is not madame la marquise; she is Turlurette, her maid. But it’s all the same, our masters or us, it’s absolutely the same thing.”

“What a stupid thing to say, Jasmin,” said Turlurette, nudging her companion; “the idea! our masters or us being the same thing!”

“I mean so far as the child we have come to see is concerned. They have sent us to find out about his health; can’t we see that as well as our masters? And even better, for we have better eyes than they have.”

“You speak of your masters with very little respect, Monsieur Jasmin.”

“Mademoiselle, I respect and venerate them, but that doesn’t prevent me from saying that they are both of them in a miserable state. What wretched carcasses! They make me feel very sad!”

“Hush, Monsieur Jasmin, here we are!”

The carriage had stopped in front of Frimousset’s house, and Jacquinot’s shouts had put the whole household in commotion.

“Those are Chérubin’s parents,” was heard in every direction. The little boys rushed to meet the carriage; Jacquinot went to draw wine to offer to his guests; while Nicole, after hastily washing her nursling and wiping his nose, took him in her arms and presented him to Jasmin and Turlurette, just as they alighted from the carriage, and called out to them:

“Here he is, monsieur and madame; take him, and see how well he is! Ah! I flatter myself that he wasn’t as pretty as that when you gave him to me!”

“True; he’s superb!” said Jasmin, kissing the child.

“Yes, he is as well as can be!” said Turlurette, turning little Chérubin over and over in every direction.

But while they admired her nursling, Nicole, who had had time to recover herself, looked closely at Jasmin and Turlurette, and then exclaimed:

“But I say, it seems to me that monsieur and madame ain’t the child’s father and mother. Pardi! I recognize monsieur by his red nose and his peppered face; he’s the one who came to the bureau and picked me out.”

“Yes, nurse, you are not mistaken,” replied Jasmin, “I am not my master; I mean that I am not the marquis, and that is what I shouted to your husband, but he didn’t listen. But that doesn’t make any difference; we were sent here, Turlurette and I, to satisfy ourselves about young Grandvilain’s health, and to report to monsieur le marquis and his wife.”

“You will always be welcome,” said Nicole.

“And then you won’t refuse to taste our wine and refresh yourselves,” cried Jacquinot, bringing a huge jar, full to the brim of a wine perfectly _nif_, which means new in the language of the country people.

“I never refuse to taste any wine, and I am always glad to refresh myself, even when I am not warm,” replied Jasmin. “But first of all, I must fulfil to the letter my dear master’s orders. Nurse, undress the child, if you please, and let me see him all naked, so that I can judge if he is in good condition from top to toe--inclusively.”

“Oh, bless my soul! drink and let us alone! That is my business!” said Mademoiselle Turlurette, still keeping the child in her arms.

“Mademoiselle, I will not prevent you from looking at the child too, but I know what my master ordered me to do, and I propose to obey him. Give me Chérubin, and let me make a little Cupid of him.”

“I won’t give him to you.”

“Then I’ll take him!”

“Come and try it!”

Jasmin leaped upon the child, but Turlurette would not let him go, and each of them pulled him; Chérubin shrieked, and the nurse, to put an end to this imitation of the judgment of Solomon, adroitly took the child from both of them. In the twinkling of an eye she undressed him, and, handing him to the two servants, bade them kiss her nursling’s plump little posterior.

“There! what do you think of him?” she cried; “ain’t he fine? You’d like to be as fresh and plump as that, wouldn’t you?--but I wish you may get it!”

The nurse’s action restored general good-humor and peace between the servants of the house of Grandvilain. Turlurette did not tire of kissing her master’s child. As for Jasmin, he took a huge pinch of snuff, then seated himself at a table, and said:

“Yes, yes, everything is all right; we have a superb scion. And now, let us taste your wine, foster-father.”

Jacquinot made haste to fill the glasses, drink, and fill again; and Jasmin was as well pleased with the foster-father as with the nurse.

“But why did not monsieur le marquis and madame come themselves?” asked Nicole.

“Oh!” Turlurette replied with a sigh, “my poor mistress isn’t very well; when she tried to nurse the child, she didn’t get along well, and now that she’s given it up, she’s worse than ever!”

“But I offered to take our Chérubin’s place, in order to relieve my excellent mistress!” murmured Jasmin, tossing off a great bumper of sour wine.

“Mon Dieu! Monsieur Jasmin, you’re forever saying stupid things,” said Turlurette; “the idea of madame feeding you.”

“Why not, when it was the doctor’s orders? I once knew a lady who nursed several cats and two rabbits, because she had too much milk.”

“Oh! we’ve had enough of your stories!--In short, my mistress is very weak; she can’t leave her room, or else she’d have come long ago to see her dear child; she talks about him all the time.”

“As for monsieur le marquis,” said Jasmin, “he has the gout in his heels, which makes it very hard for him to walk. I suggested a way to do it, and that was to walk on his toes and not touch his heels to the ground; he tried it, but after taking a few steps that way, _patatras_! he fell flat on the floor, and he has never been willing to try again. But they sent us in their place, and never fear, we will make a good report of what we have seen. You have restored our son’s life! You are excellent people! Here’s your health, foster-father; your wine scrapes the palate, but it isn’t unpleasant, and it has a taste of claret.”

While Jasmin drank and chattered, Turlurette went to the carriage to fetch what her mistress had sent to the nurse. There were presents of all sorts: sugar, coffee, clothes, and even toys for Chérubin’s foster-brothers. The room in which the peasants usually sat would hardly hold all that came out of the carriage. The little Frimoussets jumped and shouted for joy, and rolled on the floor, at sight of all those presents, and Nicole said again and again:

“Madame la marquise is very kind! but she can be sure that her son will eat all these nice things; my _gas_ won’t touch ‘em! Besides, they prefer pork.”

Jasmin enjoyed himself exceedingly with Jacquinot, and Turlurette was finally obliged to remind him that their masters were impatiently awaiting their return. The domestics bade the villagers farewell. They kissed little Chérubin again, but on the face this time, and returned to their master’s carriage, which quickly took them back to Paris.

The marchioness awaited the return of her servants with the anxiety of a mother who fears for the life of the only child that Heaven has granted her. And despite his gout, Monsieur de Grandvilain dragged himself to the window from time to time, to see if he could discover his carriage in the distance.

Turlurette, who was young and active, ran ahead of Jasmin and entered the room with a radiant air; her face announced that she brought good news.

“Magnificent, madame! magnificent health! A superb child! Oh! no one would ever know him; he was so pale and thin when he went away, and now he’s as fat and solid as a rock.”

“Really, Turlurette,” cried the marchioness; “you are not deceiving us?”

“Oh! just ask Jasmin, madame; here he comes.”

Jasmin appeared, puffing like an ox, because he had tried to go upstairs as quickly as Turlurette. He walked forward, bowed gravely to his masters and said:

“Our young marquis is in a most flourishing condition; I had the honor to kiss his posterior; I ask your pardon for taking that liberty, but he is such a lovely child and so well kept! I assure you that the Frimousset family is worthy of our confidence, and that we have only praise to give the nurse and her husband.”

These words filled the atmosphere of the hôtel de Grandvilain with joy. Chérubin’s mamma promised herself that she would go to Gagny to see her son as soon as her health was restored, and Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain swore that he would do the same as soon as the gout should be obliging enough to leave his heels.

VI

TIME AND ITS EFFECTS

The old marquis and his wife were very happy when they knew that their son was in good health; they forgot that their own health was poor, and they made great plans for the future.

There is an old song that says:

“To-day belongs to us,
To-morrow belongs to no one.”

All of which is very true; and it means that we must never rely upon the morrow; but that does not prevent us from often making plans in which we stride over a great number of years, which is much more than a morrow! And most of those same plans are destined never to be executed. We are wise to make them, however, for in them consists the better part of our happiness; what we actually have in hand never seems so sweet as what we expect; it is with that as with those landscapes which seem charming to us at a distance, but very commonplace when we come close to them.

A month after receiving the assurance that her son was well, and that he had entirely recovered his health, Aménaïde, feeling somewhat better, determined to go out and take the air, in order that she might sooner be in a condition to go to Gagny. But whether it was that she went out too soon, or that a new disease declared itself, the marchioness was feeling wretched when she returned; she went back to bed, and a fortnight later little Chérubin’s mother was laid in her grave. However, she had not realized that she was dying, and up to the last moment had retained the hope of going to embrace her son.

The old marquis was in despair at his loss; but at seventy years a man no longer loves as at thirty; as it grows old, the heart becomes less loving, and that is the effect of experience no less than of years; men are so deceived in their affections during the course of their lives, that they inevitably end by becoming selfish and by concentrating upon themselves the affection which they once offered to others.

Moreover, the marquis was not left alone on earth; had he not his son to comfort him? His faithful retainer said to him one day:

“My dear master, think of your little Chérubin; he has no mother now; you certainly ought to have died before her, for you were much older, but things don’t always go as one expects! Madame la marquise is dead and you are alive; to be sure, you have the gout, but there are people whom it doesn’t carry away at once; you are a proof of it. Be a man, monsieur le marquis, and remember your son, of whom you will make a lusty blade, such as you used to be; for you were a famous young rake, monsieur, although no one would suspect it to look at you now.”

“What do you mean, Jasmin? Am I very much changed? Do I look as if I were impotent now?”

“I don’t say that, monsieur, but I do think that you would find it difficult to keep five or six appointments in the same day; and that is what often happened in the old days! Ah! what a lady-killer you were! Well, I have an idea that your son will take after you, that he too will send me with billets-doux. Ha! ha! I will carry them with great pleasure; I know all about slipping notes into ladies’ hands.”

“In other words, my poor fellow, you were forever making mistakes and blunders, and it wasn’t your fault that I wasn’t surprised and murdered a hundred times by jealous husbands or rivals.”

“Do you think so, monsieur? Oh! you are mistaken; it was so long ago that you have forgotten all about it.”

“After all,” rejoined Monsieur de Grandvilain, after a moment, “even if I should weep for the poor marchioness all the time, that would not bring her back to me. I must preserve myself for my son. Ah! only let me see him when he is twenty years old! That is all I ask.”

“The deuce! I should say so! You are not modest!” said Jasmin; “twenty added to the seventy you are now, would make you ninety!”

“Well, Jasmin, don’t men ever live to that age?”

“Oh! very seldom; but it may happen.”

“How old are you, you rascal, to venture to make such remarks?”

“Why, monsieur, I am fifty,” replied Jasmin, straightening himself up and putting out his leg.

“Hum! I believe that you take off something; you look much older than that. But no matter, I will bury ten like you!”

“Monsieur is at liberty to do so, certainly.”

“And as soon as my gout has left me, I will go and embrace my heir. Of course I could send for the nurse to come here; but the doctor says that children mustn’t have change of air; and I would rather deprive myself of seeing mine than expose him to the danger of being sick again.”

“Besides, monsieur, whenever you want me to go to see our young man, you know that I am always ready; and there’s no need of sending that fat Turlurette with me; I know how to tell whether the child is well. I will go to Gagny every day if you want; it doesn’t tire me a bit.”

Jasmin was very fond of going to see Chérubin; in the first place, the faithful retainer was already devotedly attached to his master’s son; and in the second place, he always emptied several jars of wine with the foster-father, who also had become his friend. The marchioness had been dead five months, when Monsieur de Grandvilain at last got relief from his gout and was able to leave his great easy-chair. His first thought was to order the horses to be harnessed to his carriage; then he climbed in, Jasmin scrambling up behind, and they started for Gagny.

Little Chérubin continued in excellent health, because it was not he who had the delicacies that Turlurette continued to send to Nicole. One of the nurse’s little boys had already died of inflammation of the bowels; the other two, who were larger and stronger, still held out against the biscuits and sweetmeats; but their complexions were sallow, while Chérubin’s glowed with health and freshness.

On the day when the marquis started for Gagny, Jacquinot Frimousset had begun his visits to the wine-shop in the morning, and he was already quite drunk when one of his friends informed him that the Marquis de Grandvilain’s carriage was in front of his door.

“Good!” said Jacquinot, “it’s my friend Monsieur Jasmin come to see us. He ain’t a bit proud, although he’s a valet de chambre in a noble family; we’ll empty a few jugs together.”

And the nurse’s husband succeeded, although staggering and stumbling at every step, in reaching his own house; he entered the room where Monsieur de Grandvilain was at that moment occupied in dandling his son, who was then a year old; and who seemed much amused by his dear father’s chin, which did not remain at rest for an instant.

“Who’s that old codger?” cried Frimousset, trying to open his eyes and leaning against the wall.

“It’s Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain himself,” cried Nicole, making signs to her husband to assume a more respectful attitude; but he roared with laughter, and said:

“That, Chérubin’s father? Nonsense! Impossible! It’s his grandfather, his great grandfather at least! As if a shrivelled and shrunken old fellow like that could have such young children!”

Monsieur de Grandvilain turned purple with rage; for a moment he was tempted to take his son away and never again set foot inside the house of that vulgar peasant who had said such unpleasant things to him; but Nicole had already succeeded in pushing her husband out of the room, and Jasmin, who was engaged in refreshing himself at a little distance, went to his master and said:

“Don’t pay any attention to him, my dear master, the foster-father has been drinking; he’s drunk, he can’t see straight; but for that, he would never have said such things to you; he might have thought them, perhaps, but he wouldn’t have said them.”

“My husband is a drunken sot and nothing else,” said Nicole. “I ask your pardon for him, monsieur le marquis; the idea of thinking that you ain’t your son’s father! Mon Dieu! it’s plain enough that his eyes are blinded by drink. Why, the dear child is the very image of you! He has your nose and your mouth and your eyes and everything!”

This language was absurdly exaggerated, and far from flattering to little Chérubin; but the Marquis de Grandvilain, who did not choose to grow old, took it all for gospel truth; he looked at his son again and murmured:

“Yes, he looks like me, he will be a very handsome boy.”

He rose and put a purse in the nurse’s hand, saying to her:

“I am well pleased; my son is well; continue to take good care of him, for since the air of this neighborhood agrees with him, I think that I shall do well to leave him with you a long while, a very long while, in fact. Children always have time enough to study; health before everything! eh, Jasmin?”

“Oh yes! health indeed, monsieur! You are quite right; for what good does it do to know a lot when one is dead?”

Monsieur de Grandvilain smiled at his valet’s reflection; then, after embracing Chérubin, he returned to his carriage. Jacquinot was cowering in a corner of the yard, and did not dare to stir; he contented himself with bowing to the marquis, who, as he passed the peasant, drew himself up and did his utmost to impart to his gait the ease and firmness of youth.

Several months passed. Monsieur de Grandvilain often said: “I am going to Gagny.” But he did not go; the dread of meeting the foster-father again, and of being greeted with fresh compliments after the style of the former ones, restrained the marquis, and he contented himself with sending for his son, who had become large enough to take such a short journey without danger.

At such times Nicole passed several hours at the mansion; but Chérubin did not enjoy himself there; he always wept and asked to be taken back to the village. Whereupon the marquis would embrace his son and say to his nurse:

“Go at once, we must not thwart him; perhaps it would make him ill.”

Two more years passed in this way. Chérubin was in excellent health, but he was not stout or robust, like the children of most peasants; he was a merry little fellow, he loved to play and to run about; but as soon as he was taken to Paris, as soon as he found himself with his father at the hôtel de Grandvilain, the boy lost all his merriment; to be sure, the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain was not a cheerful place; and the old marquis, who was almost always suffering from the gout, was rather a dismal object himself.

However, they did what they could to make his visits to his father’s house pleasant to the youngster; they had filled a room with toys, and they always covered a table with sweetmeats; Chérubin was at liberty to eat everything, to break all that he saw; he was left free to do whatever he chose; but after looking at a few of the toys and eating a cake or two, the child would run to his nurse, take hold of her apron, gaze at her affectionately and say in an imploring voice:

“Mamma Nicole, ain’t we going home soon?”

One day the marquis assumed a solemn expression, and beckoning his son to his side, said to him:

“But, Chérubin, you are at home here. When you are at the village, you are at your nurse’s home; here you are in your father’s house and consequently at your own home.”

“Oh, no!” he replied, “this ain’t to home.”

“You are an obstinate little fellow, Chérubin; you don’t think that you are at home here, because you are not used to being here; but if you should stay here no more than a fortnight, you would forget the village; for after all it is much finer here than at your nurse’s house; isn’t it?”

“Oh no! it’s ever so much prettier to our house!”

“To our house! to our house! this is most annoying. However, as it is so, as you are not happy at your father’s house, you are going to stay here, Chérubin; you shan’t go back to your nurse’s again; I am going to keep you with me; you shall not leave me after this; and at all events I will teach you to speak French, and not to say ‘to our house’ any more!”

The child did not dare to reply; the stern tone which his father assumed to him for the first time, terrified him so that he was speechless and dared not move; but in a moment his features contracted, his tears gushed forth and he began to sob.

Thereupon Jasmin, who, in an adjoining room, had heard all that had been said, rushed at his master like a madman, crying:

“Well! what does this mean? So you make our child cry now, do you? That’s very nice of you! do you propose to become a tyrant?”

“Hold your tongue, Jasmin!”

“No, monsieur, I won’t allow you to make our little one unhappy! I should think not! I say that you shall not! Look, see how he is crying, the dear boy! For heaven’s sake, what is the matter with you to-day, monsieur? Has the gout gone to your heart?”

“Jasmin----”

“I don’t care, monsieur; beat me, discharge me, send me to the stable, make me sleep with the horses; do whatever you choose, but don’t make this child cry; for if you do, why--I----”

Jasmin paused; he could say no more, because he too was weeping.

Monsieur de Grandvilain, when he saw his faithful servant cover his eyes with his handkerchief, held out his hand instead of scolding him, and said:

“Come! come! don’t lose your head. I was wrong, yes, I was wrong, since I have made this poor child unhappy. After all, my company is not very lively; the gout often makes me cross. What would he do in this great house, poor boy? He is too young to be made to study. And then he no longer has any mother, so we must leave him with his nurse as long as possible. Besides, the air in Paris is not so good as that which he breathes in the village. So take back your foster-child, nurse; as he loves you so dearly, it must be that you make him happy. Come and kiss me, Chérubin, and don’t cry any more; you are going back to your good friends; they do not love you any more than we do, but you love them more. I will try to be patient, and perhaps my turn will come some day.”

“Bravo! bravo!” cried Jasmin, while his master embraced his son. “Ah! that is what I call talking; I recognize you now, monsieur. Why, certainly your Chérubin will love you, he will adore you,--but later; you can’t expect that all at once; let him grow a little, and if he doesn’t love you then, why I shall have a word to say to him.”

So the nurse took Chérubin back to the village. Nicole was well pleased to keep a child who was a fortune to her; but she promised the old marquis to bring his son to him the next week, for the old man seemed more depressed than usual at parting.

They say that there are presentiments, secret warnings, which enable us to divine that some disaster threatens us; that our heart beats more violently when we part from a dear one whom we are destined never to see again. Why should we not believe in presentiments? The ancients believed in omens; men of sense are sometimes very superstitious; it is infinitely better to believe in many things than to believe in nothing; and strong minds are not always great minds.

Had the Marquis de Grandvilain a presentiment, that he was so loath to allow his son to go? That is something that we cannot tell; but it is a fact that he was destined never to see him again. Three days after the scene which we have described, an attack of gout carried the old nobleman off in a few hours; he had only time to whisper to Jasmin the name of his notary, and to breathe that of his son.

The grief of the marquis’s valet was more intense, more touching, more sincere, than that of a multitude of friends and relations would have been. When our servants love us, they love us dearly, for they know our faults as well as our good qualities, and they forgive us the former in favor of the latter, which our friends and acquaintances never do.

Jasmin was especially distressed because he had reproved his master for wanting to keep his son with him.

“I am responsible for his not being able to embrace his son again before he died, my poor master!” he said to himself. “He had a presentiment of his approaching death when he didn’t want to send the child back to the country; and I presumed to scold him, villain that I am! and he did not strike me as I deserved; on the contrary, he gave me his hand! Ah! I would die of grief if I had not Chérubin to look out for.”

Thereupon Jasmin recalled the fact that his master, before he closed his eyes, had stammered the name of his notary; and presuming that that functionary was instructed concerning the wishes of the late marquis, he made haste to go to him and tell him of his master’s death.

Monsieur de Grandvilain’s notary was a man still young, but of a serious and even somewhat severe aspect; he had, in fact, the marquis’s will in his keeping, and was instructed to carry out his last wishes. He lost no time in opening the document which he had in charge, and read what follows:

“I possess thirty thousand francs a year. All my property descends
to my son, my sole heir. I desire that he be put in possession of
his property at the age of fifteen. Until then I beg that my notary
will undertake to manage it. I desire that no change shall be made
inside my house, and that none of my servants shall be discharged.
I appoint Jasmin, my faithful valet de chambre, steward of my
household. Every month my notary shall hand him such sum as he
shall require for the household expenses and for the education of
my son.

“SIGISMOND VENCESLAS, MARQUIS DE GRANDVILAIN.”