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GIFT OF
A. F, Morrison
',1 GEORGE SAND
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H. M. CALDWELL CO., PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND BOSTON .*» ^
Copyright^ 1894
BY George H. Richmond & Co.
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PREFATORY NOTE
Francois le Champi, a pretty idyl that tells of
homely affections, self-devotion, *' humble cares and
delicate fears," opens a little vista into that Arcadia
to which, the poet says, we were all born. It offers
many difficulties to the translator. It is a rustic tale,
put into the mouths of peasants, who relate it with a
primitive simplicity, sweet and full of sentiment in the
French, but prone to degenerate into mawkishness
and monotony when turned into English. Great care
has been taken to keep the English of this version
simple and idiomatic, and yet religiously to avoid any
breach of faith toward the author. It is hoped that,
though the original pure and limpid waters have
necessarily contracted some stain by being forced into
another channel, they may yet yield refreshment to
those thirsty souls who cannot seek them at the
fountain-head.
J. M. S.
Stockhridge, January, 1894.
M9562J
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2007 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/francoiswaifOOsandrich
PREFACE
FRANCOIS LE CH AMPI appeared for the first time
in the feuilleton of the ** Journal des Debats."
Just as the plot of my story was reaching its develop-
ment, another more serious development was an-
nounced in the first column of the same newspaper.
It was the final downfall of the July Monarchy, in
the last days of February, 1848.
This catastrophe was naturally very prejudicial to
my story, the publication of which was interrupted
and delayed, and not finally completed, if I remem-
ber correctly, until the end of a month. For those
of my readers who are artists either by profession or
instinct, and are interested in the details of the con-
struction of works of art, I shall add to my intro-
duction that, some days before the conversation of
which that introduction is the outcome, I took a
walk through the Chemin aux Napes. The word
nape^ which, in the figurative language of that part
of the country, designates the beautiful plant called
nSnufar^ or nymphcea, is happily descriptive of the
broad leaves that lie upon the surface of the water,
7
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
as a cloth {nappe) upon a table ; but I prefer to write
it with a single p, and to trace its derivation from
iiapSe, thus leaving unchanged its mythological origin.
The Chemin aux Nape^s^ which probably none of
you, my dear readers, will ever see, as it leads to
nothing that can repay you for the trouble of passing
through so much mire, is a break-neck path, skirting
along a ditch where, in the muddy water, grow the
most beautiful nymphaeae in the world, more fragrant
than lilies, whiter than camellias, purer than the ves-
ture of virgins, in the midst of the lizards and other
reptiles that crawl about the mud and flowers, while
the kingfisher darts like living lightning along the
banks, and skims with a fiery track the rank and
luxuriant vegetation of the sewer.
A child six or seven years old, mounted bare-back
upon a loose horse, made the animal leap the hedge
behind me, and then, letting himself slide to the
ground, left his shaggy colt in the pasture, and re-
turned to try jumping over the barrier which he had
so lightly crossed on horseback a minute before. It
was not such an easy task for his little legs; I helped
him, and had with him a conversation similar to that
between the miller's wife and the foundling, related
in the beginning of ^'The Waif." When I ques-
8
PREFACE
tioned him about his age, which he did not know, he
literally delivered himself of the brilliant reply that he
was two years old. He knew neither his own name,
nor that of his parents, nor of the place he lived in;
all that he knew was to cling on an unbroken colt,
as a bird clings to a branch shaken by the storm.
I have had educated several foundlings of both
sexes, who have turned out well physically and
morally. It is no less certain, however, that these
forlorn children are apt, in rural districts, to become
bandits, owing to their utter lack of education. In-
trusted to the care of the poorest people, because of
the insufficient pittance assigned to them, they often
practise, for the benefit of their adopted parents, the
shameful calling of beggars. Would it not be pos-
sible to increase this pittance on condition that the
foundlings shall never beg, even at the doors of their
neighbors and friends ?
I have also learned by experience that nothing is
more difficult than to teach self-respect and the love
of work to children who have already begun under-
standingly to live upon alms.
GEORGE SAND.
N oh ant, May 20, 18^2,
THE • WAIF >;
'Lw>rR'x:<D,L':cTi&?^: *, :
^*** AND I were coming home from our walk
by the light of the moon which faintly sil-
vered the dusky country lanes. It was a mild au-
tumn evening, and the sky was slightly overcast; we
observed the resonance of the air peculiar to the sea-
son, and a certain mystery spread over the face of
nature. At the approach of the long winter sleep, it
seems as if every creature and thing stealthily agreed
to enjoy what is left of life and animation before the
deadly torpor of the frost; and as if the whole crea-
tion, in order to cheat the march of time, and to avoid
being detected and interrupted in the last frolics of
its festival, advanced without sound or apparent
motion toward its orgies in the night. The birds
give out stifled cries instead of their joyous summer
II
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
warblings. The cricket of the fields sometimes
chirps inadvertently; but it soon stops again, and
carries elsewhere its song or its wail. The plants
hastily breathe out their last perfume, which is all the
sweeter for being more delicate and less profuse.
The yelloJA^jng leaves bev/' lio ! longer rustle in the
breeze, and the flocks ani herds' graze in silence with-
oi\t.crlesl of lav^eW' CQiiibat. ; y, ' '^
My Wend hn'd I' 'walked 'cfilietly aiong, and our in-
voluntary thoughtfulness made us silent and attentive
to the softened beauty of nature, and to the enchant-
ing harmony of her last chords, which were dying
riway in an imperceptible pianissimo. Autumn is a
sad and sweet andante, which makes an admirable
preparation for the solemn adagio of winter.
*' It is all so peaceful," said my friend at last, for, in
spite of our silence, he had followed my thoughts as
I followed his; "everything seems absorbed in a
reverie so foreign and so indifferent to the labors,
cares, and preoccupations of man, that I wonder what
expression, what color, and what form of art and
poetry human intelligence could give at this moment
to the face of nature. In order to explain better to
you the end of my inquiry, I may compare the
• evening, the sky, and the landscape, dimmed, and
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
yet harmonious and complete, to the soul of a wise
and religious peasant, who labors and profits by his
toil, who rejoices in the possession of the life to
which he is born, without the need, the longing, or
the means of revealing and expressing his inner life.
I try to place myself in the heart of the mystery of
this natural rustic life — I, who am civilized, who
cannot enjoy by instinct alone, and who am always
tormented by the desire of giving an account of my
contemplation, or of my meditation, to myself and to
others.
'' Then, too," continued my friend, 'M am trying
to find out what relation can be established between
•my intelligence, which is too active, and that of the
peasant, which is not active enough; just as I was
considering a moment ago what painting, music,
description, the interpretation of art, in short, could
add to the beauty of this autumnal night which is
revealed to me in its mysterious silence, and affects
me in some magical and unknown way."
** Let us see," said I, " how your question is put.
This October night, this colorless sky, this music
without any distinct or connected melody, this calm
of nature, and this peasant who by his very sim-
plicity is more able than we to enjoy and understand
n
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
it, though he cannot portray it — let us put all this
together and call it primitive life, with relation to our
own highly developed and complicated life, which I
shall call artificial life. You are asking what possi-
ble connection or direct link can there be betweerr.
these two opposite conditions in the existence of per-
sons and things; between the palace and the cottage^
between the artist and the universe, between the-
poet and the laborer."
"Yes," he answered, "and let us be exact: be-
tween the language spoken by nature, primitive life,,
and instinct, and that spoken by art, science, — in a
word, by 'knowledge.^''
" To answer in the language you have adopted, I
sho'uld say that the link between knowledge and
sensation \s feeling^
"It is about the definition of feeling that I am
going to question you and myself, for its mission is
the interpretation which is troubling me. It is the
art or artist, if you prefer, empowered to translate
the purity, grace, and charm of the primitive life to
those who only live the artificial life, and who are,
if you will allow me to say so, the greatest fools in
the world in the presence of nature and her divine
secrets."
H
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
** You are asking nothing less than the secret of
art, and you must look for it in the breast of God.
No artist can reveal it, for he does not know it him-
self, and cannot give an account of the sources of his
own inspiration or his own weakness. How shall
one attempt to express beauty, simplicity, and truth ?
Do I know? And can anybody teach us ? No, not
even the greatest artists, because if they tried to
do so they would cease to be artists, and would be-
come critics; and criticism — "
"And criticism," rejoined my friend, "has been re-
volving for centuries about the mystery without un-
derstanding it. But, excuse me, that is not exactly
what I meant. I am still more radical at this mo-
ment, and call the power of art in question. I despise
it, I annihilate it, I declare that art is not born, that
it does not exist; or, if it has been, its time is past.
It is exhausted, it has no more expression, no more
breath of life, no more means to sing of the beauty
of truth. Nature is a work of art, but God is the
only artist that exists, and man is but an arranger
in bad taste. Nature is beautiful, and breathes feel-
ing from all her pores; love, youth, beauty are in
her imperishable. But man has but foolish means
:and miserable faculties for feeling and expressing them.
15
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
He had better keep aloof, silent and absorbed in con-
templation. Come, what have you to say? "
" I agree, and am quite satisfied with your opin-
ion," I answered.
** Ah! " he cried, '* you are going too far, and em-
brace my paradox too warmly. I am only pleading,
and want you to reply."
" I reply, then, that a sonnet of Petrarch has its
relative beauty, which is equivalent to the beauty of
the water of Vaucluse; that a fine landscape of
Ruysdael has a charm which equals that of this
evening; that Mozart sings in the language of men
as well as Philomel in that of birds ; that Shakspere
delineates passions, emotions, and instincts as vividly
as the actual primitive man can experience them.
This is art and its relativeness — in short, feeling."
"Yes, it is all a work of transformation! But
suppose that it does not satisfy me? Even if
you were a thousand times in the right according to
the decrees of taste and esthetics, what if I think
Petrarch's verses less harmonious than the roar of the
waterfall, and so on ? If I maintain that there is in
this evening a charm that no one could reveal to me
unless I had felt it myself; and that all Shakspere's
passion is cold in comparison with that I see gleam-
16
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
ing in the eyes of a jealous peasant who beats his
wife, what should you have to say ? You must con-
vince my feeling. And if it eludes your examples
and resists your proofs? Art is not an invincible
demonstrator, and feeling not always satisfied by the
best definition."
*' I have really nothing to answer except that art
is a demonstration of which nature is the proof; that
the preexisting fact of the proof is always present to
justify or contradict the demonstration, which nobody
can make successfully unless he examine the proof
with religious love."
*' So the demonstration could not do without the
proof; but could the proof do without the demon-
stration?"
"No doubt God could do without it; but, al-
though you are talking as if you did not belong to
us, I am willing to wager that you would understand
nothing of the proof if you had not found the demon-
stration under a thousand forms in the tradition of
art, and if you were not yourself a demonstration
constantly acting upon the proof."
" That is just what I am complaining of. I should
like to rid myself of this eternal irritating demonstra-
tion; to erase from my memory the teachings and
17
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
the forms of art; never to think of painting when I
look at a landscape, of music when I listen to the
wind, or of poetry when I admire and take delight
in both together. I should like to enjoy everything
instinctively, because I think that the cricket which
is singing just now is more joyous and ecstatic
than I."
" You complain, then, of being a man? "
"No; I complain of being no longer a primitive
man."
" It remains to be known whether he was capable
of enjoying what he could not understand."
*M do not suppose that he was similar to the
brutes, for as soon as he became a man he thought
and felt differently from them. But I cannot form an
exact idea of his emotions, and that is what bothers
me. I should like to be what the existing state of
society allows a great number of men to be from the
cradle to the grave — I should like to be a peasant; a
peasant who does not know how to read, whom God
has endowed with good instincts, a serene organiza-
tion, and an upright conscience; and I fancy that in
the sluggishness of my useless faculties, and in the
ignorance of depraved tastes, I should be as happy
as the primitive man of Jean-Jacques's dreams."
i8
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
'* I, too, have had this same dream; who has not?
But, even so, your reasoning is not conclusive, for the
imost simple and ingenuous peasant may still be an
artist; and I believe even that his art is superior to ours.
The form is different, but it appeals more strongly to
me than all the forms which belong to civilization.
Songs, ballads, and rustic tales say in a few words
what our literature can only amplify and disguise."
"I may triumph, then? "resumed my friend. **The
peasant's art is the best, because it is more directly
inspired by nature by being in closer contact with her.
I confess I went to extremes in saying that art was
good for nothing; but I meant that I should like to
feel after the fashion of the peasant, and I do not
contradict myself now. There are certain Breton
laments, made by beggars, which in three couplets
are worth all Goethe and Byron put together, and
which prove that appreciation of truth and beauty
was more spontaneous and complete in such simple
souls than in our most distinguished poets. And
music, too! Is not our country full of lovely melo-
dies ? And though they do not possess painting as
an art, they have it in their speech, which is a hun-
dred times more expressive, forcible, and logical than
our literary language."
19
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
** I agree with you," said I, '* especially as to this
last point. It drives me to despair that I am obliged
to write in the language of the Academy, when I am
much more familiar with another tongue infinitely
more fitted for expressing a whole order of emotions,
thoughts, and feelings."
''Oh, yes!" said he, "that fresh and unknown
world is closed to modern art, and no study can help
you to express it even to yourself, with all your
sympathies for the peasant, if you try to introduce it
into the domain of civilized art and the intellectual
intercourse of artificial life."
"Alas! " I answered, "this thought has often dis-
turbed me. I have myself seen and felt, in common
with all civilized beings, that primitive life was the
dream and ideal of all men and all times. From
the shepherds of Longus down to those of Trianon,
pastoral life has been a perfumed Eden, where souls
wearied and harassed by the tumult of the world
have sought a refuge. Art, which has always flat-
tered and fawned upon the too fortunate among
mankind, has passed through an unbroken series of
pastorals. And under the title of ' The History of
Pastorals ' I have often wished to write a learned and
critical work, in which to review all the different rural
20
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
dreams to which the upper classes have so fondly
clung.
' ' I should follow their modifications, which are al-
ways in inverse relation to the depravity of morals,
for they become innocent and sentimental in propor-
tion as society is shameless and corrupt. I should
like to order this book of a writer better qualified
than I to accomplish it, and then I should read it
with delight. It should be a complete treatise on
art; for music, painting, architecture, literature in all
its forms, the theater, poetry, romances, eclogues,
songs, fashions, gardens, and even dress, have been
influenced by the infatuation for the pastoral dream.
All the types of the golden age, the shepherdesses of
Astrcea, who are first nymphs and then marchionesses,
and who pass through the Lignon of Florian, wear
satin and powder under Louis XV., and are put into
sabots by Sedaine at the end of the monarchy, aie
all more or less false, and seem to us to-day con-
temptible and ridiculous. We have done with them,
and see only their ghosts at the opera ; and yet they
once reigned at court and were the delight of kings,
who borrowed from them the shepherd's crook and
scrip.
** I have often wondered why there are no more
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
shepherds, for we are not so much in love with the
truth lately that art and literature can afford to de-
spise the old conventional types rather than those
introduced by the present mode. To-day we are de-
voted to force and brutality, and on the background
of these passions we embroider decorations horrible
enough to make our hair stand on end if we could
take them seriously."
*' If we have no more shepherds," rejoined my
friend, "and if literature has changed one false ideal
for another, is it not an involuntary attempt of art to
bring itself down to the level of the intelligence of
all classes? Does not the dream of equality afloat
in society impel art to a fierce brutality in order to
awaken those instincts and passions common to all
men, of whatever rank they may be? Nobody has
as yet reached the truth. It exists no more in a hid-
eous realism than in an embellished idealism ; but
there is plainly a search for it, and if the search is in
the wrong direction, the eagerness of the pursuit is
only quickened. Let us see: the drama, poetry, and
the novel have thrown away the shepherd's crook for
the dagger, and when rustic life appears on the scene
it has a stamp of reality which was wanting in the
old pastorals. But there is no more poetry in it, I
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
am sorry to say; and I do not yet see the means of
reinstating the pastoral ideal without making it
either too gaudy or too somber. You have often
thought of doing it, I know; but can you hope for
success ? "
'' No," I answered, '* for there is no form for me to
adopt, and there is no language in which to express
my conception of rustic simplicity. If I made the
laborer of the fields speak as he does speak, it would
be necessary to have a translation on the opposite
page for the civilized reader; and if I made him
speak as we do, I should create an impossible being,
in whom it would be necessary to suppose an order
of ideas which he does not possess."
" Even if you made him speak as he does speak,*
your own language would constantly make a dis-
agreeable contrast ; and in my opinion you cannot
escape this criticism. You describe a peasant girl,
call her Jeanne, and put into her mouth words which
she might possibly use. But you, who are the writer
of the novel, and are anxious to make your readers
understand your fondness for painting this kind of
type — you compare her to a druidess, to a Jeanne
d'Arc, and so on. Your opinions and language make
an incongruous effect with hers, like the clashing of
23
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
harsh colors in a picture; and this is not the way
fully to enter into nature, even if you idealize her.
Since then you have made a better and more truth-
ful study in 'The Devil's Pool.' Still, 1 am not yet
satisfied ; the tip of the author's fmger is apparent
from time to time ; and there are some author's
words, as they are called by Henri Mounier, an artist
who has succeeded in being true in caricature, and
who has consequently solved the problem he had set
for himself. I know that your own problem is no
easier to solve. But you must still try, although you
are sure of not succeeding ; masterpieces are only
lucky attempts. You may console yourself for not
achieving masterpieces, provided that your attempts
are conscientious."
" I am consoled beforehand," I answered, ''and I
am willing to begin again whenever you wish; please
give me your advice."
" For example," said he, "we were present last
evening at a rustic gathering at the farm, and the
hemp-dresser told a story until two o'clock in the
morning. The priest's servant helped him with his
tale, and resumed it when he stopped; she was a
peasant-woman of some slight education ; he was
uneducated, but happily gifted by nature and en-
24
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
dowed with a certain rude eloquence. Between them
they related a true story, which was rather long,
and like a simple kind of novel. Can you remem-
ber it?"
" Perfectly, and I could repeat it word for word in
their language."
*' But their language would require a translation;
you must write in your own, without using a single
word unintelligible enough to necessitate a foot-
note for the reader."
" I see that you are setting an impossible task for
me — a task into which I have never plunged without
emerging dissatisfied with myself, and overcome with
a sense of my own weakness."
'' No matter, you must plunge in again, for I un-
derstand you artists ; you need obstacles to rouse
your enthusiasm, and you never do well what is
plain and easy to you. Come, begin, tell me the
story of the * Waif,' but not in the way that you and
I heard it last night. That was a masterly piece of
narrative for you and me who are children of the soil.
But tell it to me as if you had on your right hand a
Parisian speaking the modern tongue, and on your
left a peasant before whom you were unwilling to
utter a word or phrase which he could not under-
25
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
stand. You must speak clearly for the Parisian, and
simply for the peasant. One will accuse you of a
lack of local color, and the other of a lack of ele-
gance. But I shall be listening too, and I am trying
to discover by what means art, without ceasing to
be universal, can penetrate the mystery of primitive
simplicity, and interpret the charm of nature to the
mind."
" This, then, is a study which we are going to
undertake together? "
'^ Yes, for I shall interrupt you when you stumble."
'' Very well, let us sit down on this bank covered
with wild thyme. I will begin ; but first allow me
to clear my voice with a few scales."
" What do you mean? I did not know that you
could sing."
'M am only speaking metaphorically. Before be-
ginning a work of art, I think it is well to call to
mind some theme or other to serve as a type,
and to induce the desired frame of mind. So, in order
to prepare myself for what you ask, I must recite the
story of the dog of Brisquet, which is short, and
which I know by heart."
" What is it? I cannot recall it."
'Mt is an exercise for my voice, written by Charles
26
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
Nodier, who tried his in all possible keys ; a great
artist, to my thinking, and one who has never re-
ceived all the applause he deserved, because, among
all his varied attempts, he failed more often than he
succeeded. But when a man has achieved two or
three masterpieces, no matter how short they may be,
he should be crowned, and his mistakes should be
forgotten. Here is the dog of Brisquet. You must
listen."
Then I repeated to my friend the story of the
*'Bichonne," which moved him to tears, and which
he declared to be a masterpiece of style.
'' I should be discouraged in what I am going to
attempt," said I, ''for this Odyssey of the poor dog
of Brisquet, which did not take five minutes to recite,
has no stain or blot ; it is a diamond cut by the first
lapidary in the world — for Nodier is essentially a lapi-
dary in literature. I am not scientific, and must call
sentiment to my aid. Then, too, I cannot promise
to be brief, for I know beforehand that my study will
fail in the first of all requisites, that of being short
and good at the same time."
" Go on, nevertheless," said my friend, bored by
tny preliminaries.
" This, then, is the history of ' Francois the
^1
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Champij^^^ I resumed, "and I shall try to remember
the first part without any alteration. It was Mo-
nique, the old servant of the priest, who began."
" One moment," said my severe auditor, *' I must
object to your title. Champi is not French."
" I beg your pardon," I answered. ** The diction-
ary says it is obsolete, but Montaigne uses it, and I
do not wish to be more French than the great
writers who have created the language. So I shall
not call my story ' Francois the Foundling,' nor ' Fran-
cois the Bastard,' but ' Francois the Champi,^ — that
is to say, the Waif, the forsaken child of the fields,
as he was once called in the great world, and is still
called in our part of the country."
28
CHAPTER I
ONE morning, when Madeleine Blanchet, the
young wife of the miller of Cormouer,
went down to the end of her meadow to wash her
linen in the fountain, she found a little child sitting
in front of her washing-board playing with the
straw she used as a cushion for her knees. Madeleine
Blanchet looked at the child, and was surprised not
to recognize him, for the road which runs near by
is unfrequented, and few strangers are to be met
with in the neighborhood.
''Who are you, my boy?" said she to the little
boy, who turned confidingly toward her, but did not
seem to understand her question. ''What is your
name?" Madeleine Blanchet went on, as she made
him sit down beside her, and knelt down to begtn
to wash.
" Francois," answered the child.
" Francois who?"
29
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
'' Who ? " said the child stupidly.
** Whose son are you ? "
'* I don't know."
*' You don't know your father's name? "
" I have no father."
'* Is he dead then?"
'M don't know."
" And your mother ? "
** She is over there," said the child, pointing to a
poor little hovel which stood at the distance of two
gunshots from the mill, and the thatched roof of
which could be seen through the willows.
''Oh! I know," said Madeleine. "Is she the
woman who has come to live here, and who moved
in last evening ? "
" Yes," answered the child.
" And you used to live at Mers ? "
"I don't know."
* ' You are not a wise child. Do you know your
mother's name, at least ? "
" Yes, it is Zabelle."
" Isabelle who? Don't you know her other
name?"
"No, of course not."
'* What you know will not wear your brains out,'*
30
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
said Madeleine, smiling and beginning to beat her
linen.
''What do you say?" asked little Francois.
Madeleine looked at him again; he was a fine
child, and had magnificent eyes. 'Mt is a pity," she
thought, "that he seems to be so idiotic. How old
are you?" she continued. ''Perhaps you do not
know that either."
The truth is that he knew no more about this than
about the rest. He tried his best to answer, ashamed
to have the miller's wife think him so foolish, and
delivered himself of this brilliant reply:
"Two years old."
" Indeed?" said Madeleine, wringing out her linen,
without looking at him any more, ' ' you are a real
little simpleton, and nobody has taken the trouble to
teach you, my poor child. You are tall enough to
be six years old, but you have not the sense of a
child of two."
"Perhaps," answered Francois. Then^ making
another effort, as if to shake off the lethargy from his
poor little mind, he said :
"Were you asking for my name? It is Francois
the Waif."
"Oh! I understand now," said Madeleine, looking
3'
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
at him compassionately; and she was no longer
astonished that he was so dirty, ragged, and stupid.
"You have not clothes enough," said she, ''and
the weather is chill ; I am sure that you must be
cold."
" I do not know," answered the poor waif, who
was so accustomed to suffering that he was no
longer conscious of it.
Madeleine sighed. She thought of her little Jeannie,
who was only a year old^ and was sleeping com-
fortably in his cradle watched over by his grand-
mother, while this poor little waif was shivering all
alone at the fountain's brink, preserved from drown-
ing only by the mercy of Providence, for he was too
foolish to know that he would die if he fell into
the water.
Madeleine, whose heart was full of kindness, felt
the child's arm and found it warm, although he
shook from time to time, and his pretty face was
very pale.
** Have you any fever ? " she asked.
'* I don't know," answered the child, who was
always feverish.
Madeleine Blanchet loosened the woolen shawl
from her shoulders and wrapped it round the waif,
32
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
who let her have her way without showing either
surprise or pleasure. She picked up all the straw
from under his knees and made a bed for him, on
which he soon fell asleep; then she made haste to
finish washing her little Jeannie's clothes, for she
nursed her baby and was anxious to return to him.
When her task was completed, the wet linen was
twice as heavy as before, and she could not carry
it all. She took home what she could, and left the
rest with her wooden beater beside the water, intend-
ing to come back immediately and wake up the waif
Madeleine Blanchet was neither tall nor strong. She
was a very pretty woman, with a fearless spirit and
a reputation for sense and sweetness.
As she opened the door of her house she heard the
clattering of sabots running after her over the little
bridge above the mill-dam, and, turning round, she
saw the waif, who had caught up with her, and was
bringing her her beater, her soap, the rest of the
linen, and her shawl.
" Oh! " said she, laying her hand on his shoulder,
*'you are not so foolish as I thought, for you are
obliging, and nobody who has a good heart can be
stupid. Come in, my child, come in and rest. Look
at this poor little boy! He is carrying a load heavier
3 33
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
than himself! Here," said she to the miller's old
mother, who handed her her baby, rosy and smiling,
'' here is a poor sick-looking waif. You understand
fevers, and we must try to cure him."
*' Ah ! that is the fever of poverty ! " replied the
old woman, as she looked at Francois. ** He could
cure it with good soup, but he cannot get that. He
is the little waif that belongs to the woman who
moved in yesterday. She is your husband's tenant,
Madeleine. She looks very wretched, and I am
afraid that she will not pay regularly."
Madeleine did not answer. She knew that her
husband and her mother-in-law were not charita-
ble, and that they loved their money more than their
neighbor. She nursed her baby, and when the old
woman had gone out to drive home the geese, she
took Francois by the hand, and, holding Jeannie on
her arm, went with them to Zabelle's.
Zabelle, whose real name was Isabelle Bigot, was
an old maid of fifty, as disinterested as a woman
can be when she has nothing to live on, and is in
constant dread of starvation. She had taken Francois
after he was weaned, from a dying woman, and had
brought him up ever since, for the sake of the
monthly payment of a few pieces of silver, and with
34
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
the expectation of making a little servant out of him.
She had lost her sheep, and was forced to buy others
on credit, whenever she could obtain it ; for she had
no other means of support than her little flock, and
a dozen hens, which lived at the expense of the
parish. She meant Franfois to tend this poor flock
along the roadsides, until he should be old enough to
make his first communion, after which she expected
to hire him out as best she could, either as a little
swineherd or a plowboy, and she was sure that
if his heart were good he would give part of his
wages to his adopted mother.
Zabelle had come from Mers, the day after the
feast of Saint Martin, leaving her last goat behind
her in payment of what she owed on her rent, and
had taken possession of the little cottage belonging
to the mill of Cormouer, without being able to offer
any security beside her pallet-bed, two chairs, a
chest, and a few earthen vessels. The house was so
poor, so ill-protected from the weather, and of such
trifling value, that the miller was obliged to incur
the risk of letting it to a poor tenant, or to leave it
unoccupied.
Madeleine talked with Zabelle, and soon perceived
that she was not a bad woman, and that she would
35
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
do all in her power to pay the rent. She had some
affection for the waif, but she was so accustomed to
see him suffer and to suffer herself that she was at
first more surprised than pleased by the pity which
the rich miller's wife showed for the forlorn child.
At last, after she had recovered from her astonish-
ment, and understood that Madeleine had not come
to ask anything of her, but to do her a kindness, she
took courage, related her story, which was like that
of all the unfortunate, and thanked her warmly for
her interest. Madeleine assured her that she would
do her best to help her, but begged her to tell no-
body, acknowledging that she was not her own
mistress at home, and could only afford her assis-
tance in secret.
She left her woolen shawl with Zabelle, and ex-
acted a promise from her that she would cut it into
a coat for the waif that same evening, and not allow
the pieces to be seen before they were sewed to-
gether. She saw, indeed, that Zabelle consented
reluctantly, thinking the shawl very convenient for
her own use, and so she was obliged to tell her that
she would do no more for her unless the waif were
warmly clothed in three days' time.
" Do you not suppose," she added, *' that my
36
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
mother-in-law, who is so wide-awake, would recog-
nize my shawl on your shoulders? Do you wish
to get me into trouble? You may count upon my
helping you in other ways if you keep your own
counsel. Now, listen to me : your waif has the
/ever, and he will die if you do not take good care
of him."
*' Do you think so ? " said Zabelle. " I should be
very sorry to lose him, because he has the best heart
in the world; he never complains, and is as obedient
as if he belonged to a respectable family. He is quite
different from other waifs, who are ill-tempered and
unruly, and always in mischief."
*' That is only because they are rebuffed and ill-
treated. If yours is good, it is because you have been
kind to him, you may be sure."
** That is true," rejoined Zabelle; "children are
more grateful than people think, and though this
little fellow is not bright, he can be very useful at
times. Once, when I was ill last year, and he was
only five years old, he took as good care of me as
if he were a grown-up person."
" Listen," said the miller's wife: ** you must send
him to me every morning and evening, at the hour
when I give soup to my child. I shall make more
3* 37
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
than is necessary, and the waif may eat what is left;
nobody will pay any attention."
" Oh ! I shall not dare bring him to you, and he
will never have enough sense to know the right
time himself."
" Let us arrange it in this way. When the soup is
ready, I will put my distaff on the bridge over the
dam. Look, you can see it very well from here.
Then you must send the child over with a sabot in
his hand, as if he were coming to get a light for the
fire; and if he eats my soup, you will have all yours
to yourself. You will both be better fed."
" That will do very well," answered Zabelle. " I
see that you are a clever woman, and that I am
fortunate in coming here. I was very much afraid
of your husband, who has the reput^ition of being a
hard man, and if I could have gone elsewhere I
should not have taken his house, especially as it is in
wretched repair, and the rent is high. But I see that
you are kind to the poor, and will help me to bring
up my waif. Ah! if the soup could only cure his
fever! It would be a great misfortune to me to lose
that child! He brings me but little profit, for all
that I receive from the asylum goes for his support.
Cut I love him as if he were my own child, because
38
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
I know that he is good, and will be of use to n:e
later. Have you noticed how well-grown he is for
his age, and will soon be able to work ? "
Thus Fran$;ois the Waif was reared by the care and
kindness of Madeleine, the miller's wife. He soon
recovered his health, for he was strongly built, and
any rich man in the country might have wished for a
son with as handsome a face and as well-knit a
frame. He was as brave as a man, and swam in the
river like a fish, diving even under the mill-dam; he
feared neither fire nor water; he jumped on the
wildest colts and rode them without a halter into the
pasture, kicking them with his heels to keep them in
the right path, and holding on to their manes when
they leaped the ditches. It was singular that he did
all this in his quiet, easy way, without saying any-
thing, or changing his childlike and somewhat sleepy
expression.
It was on account of this expression that he
passed for a fool; but it is none the less true that if
it were a question of robbing a magpie's nest at the
top of a lofty poplar, or of finding a cow that had
strayed far from home, or of killing a thrush with a
stone, no child was bolder, more adroit, or more cer-
tain of success than he. The other children called
39
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
it luchj which is supposed to be the portion of a
waif in this hard world. So they always let him
take the first part in dangerous amusements.
" He will never get hurt," they said, ''because he
is a waif. A kernel of wheat fears the havoc of the
storm, but a random seed never dies."
For two years all went well. Zabelle found means
to buy a few sheep and goats, though no one knew
how. She rendered a good many small services to
the mill, and Cadet Blanchet, the miller, was induced
to make some repairs in her roof, which leaked in
every direction. She was enabled to dress herself
and her waif a little better, and looked gradually less
poverty-stricken than on her arrival. Madeleine's
mother-in-law made some harsh comments on the
disappearance of certain articles, and on the quantity
of bread consumed in the house, and once Made-
leine was obliged to plead guilty in order to shield
Zabelle from suspicion ; but, contrary to his mother's
expectation, Cadet Blanchet was hardly angry at all,
and seemed to wink at what his wife had done.
The secret of Cadet Blanchet's compliance was
that he was still very much in love with his wife.
Madeleine was pretty, and not the least of a coquette;
' he heard her praises sung everywhere. Besides, his
40
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
affairs were prosperous, and, as he was one of those
men who are cruel only when they are in dread of
calamity, he was kinder to Madeleine than anybody
could have supposed possible. This roused Mother
Blanchet's jealousy, and she revenged herself by petty
annoyances, which Madeleine bore in silence, and
without complaining to her husband.
It was the best way of putting an end to them,
and no woman could be more patient and reason-
able in this respect than Madeleine. But they say in
our country that goodness avails less in the end than
malice, and the day came when Madeleine was re-
buked and called to account for her charities.
It was a year when the grain had been wasted by
hail, and an overflow of the river had spoiled the
hay. Cadet Blanchet was not in a good humor,
and one day, as he was coming back from market
with a comrade who had just married a very beauti-
ful girl, the latter said to him:
" You, too, were not to be pitied in four day, for
your Madelon used to be a very attractive girl."
"What do you mean by my day, and Madelon
used to he ? Do you think that she and I are old ?
Madeleine is not twenty yet, and I am not aware
that she has lost her looks."
41
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
*'0h, no, I do not say so," replied the other.
*' Madeleine is certainly still good-looking; but you
know that when a woman marries so young you
cannot expect her to be pretty long. After she has
nursed one child, she is already worn ; and your wife
was never strong, for you see that she is very thin,
and has lost the appearance of health. Is the poor
thing ill ? "
" Not that I know of. Why do you ask me ? "
" Oh, I don't know. I think she looks sad, as if she
suffered or had some sorrow. A woman's bloom lasts
no longer than the blossom of the vine. I must ex-
pect to see my wife with a long face and sober ex-
pression. And we men are only in love with our
wives while we are jealous of them. They exasper-
ate us; we scold them and beat them sometimes;
they are distressed and weep; they stay at home and
are afraid of us; then they are bored and care no
more about us. But we are happy, for we are the
masters. And yet, one fine morning, lo and behold,
a man sees that if nobody wants his wife, it is be-
cause she has grown ugly; so he loves her no longer,
and goes to court his neighbor's. It is his fate. Good
evening, Cadet Blanchet; you kissed my wife rather
too warmly to-night; I took note of it, though I said
42
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
nothing. 1 tell you this to let you know that she and
I shall not quarrel over it, and that I shall try not to
make her as melancholy as yours, because I know my
own character. If I am ever jealous, I shall be cruel,
and when I have no more occasion for jealousy, I
shall be still worse perhaps."
A good disposition profits by a good lesson ; but,
though active and intelligent. Cadet Blanchet was
too arrogant to keep his self-possession. He came
home with his head high and his eye bloodshot.
He looked at Madeleine as he had not done for a
long time, and perceived that she was pale and al-
tered. He asked her if she were ill, so rudely that she
turned still paler, and answered in a faint voice that
she was quite well. He took offense, Heaven knows
why, and sat down to the table, desirous of seeking
a quarrel. He had not long to wait for an oppor-
tunity. They talked of the dearness of wheat, and
Mother Blanchet remarked, as she did every even-
ing, that too much bread was eaten in the house.
Madeleine was silent. Cadet Blanchet wanted to
make her responsible for the waste, and the old wo-
man declared that she had caught the waif carrying
away half a loaf that very morning. Madeleine
should have been indignant and held her own, but
43
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
she could only cry. Blanchet thought of what his
companion had said to him, and was still more irri-
tated ; and so it happened that from that day on,
explain it as you can, he no longer loved his wife,
but made her wretched.
44
CHAPTER II
HE made her wretched, and as he had never
made her happy she was doubly unlucky in
her marriage. She had allowed herself to be married,
at sixteen, to this rough, red-faced man, who drank
deeply on Sunday, was in a fury all Monday, in bad
spirits on Tuesday, and worked like a horse all the
rest of the week to make up for lost time, for he was
avaricious, and had no leisure to think of his wife.
He was less ill-tempered on Saturday, because he had
finished his work, and expected to amuse himself
next day. But a single day of good humor in a week
is not enough, and Madeleine had no pleasure in
seeing him merry, because she knew that he would
be sure to come home the next evening in a passion.
But as she was young and pretty, and so gentle
that it was impossible to be angry long with her, there
were still intervals when he was kind and just, and
when he took her hands in his and said:
45
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
'* Madeleine, you are a good wife, and I think that
you were made expressly for me. If I had married a
coquette, such as so many women are, I should kill
her, or I should drown myself under my own mill-
wheel. But I know that you are well-behaved and
industrious, and that you are worth your weight
in gold."
After four years of married life, however, his love
had quite gone; he had no more kind words for her,
and was enraged that she made no answer to his
abuse. What answer could she make? She knew
that her husband was unjust, and was unwilling to
reproach him for it, for she considered it her duty to
respect the master whom she had never been able
to love.
Mother Blanchet was pleased to see her son master
of the house again, as she said ; just as if it had ever
been otherwise. She hated her daughter-in-law, be-
cause she knew her to be better than herself. When
she could find no other cause of complaint, she reviled
her for not being strong, for coughing all winter, and
for having only one child. She despised her for this,
for knowing how to read and write, and for reading
prayers in a corner of the orchard, instead of gossip-
ing and chattering with the dames of the vicinity.
46
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
Madeleine placed her soul in God's hands, and
thinking lamentations useless, she bore her affliction
as if it were her due. She withdrew her heart from
this earth, and often dreamed of paradise, as if she
wished to die. Still, she was careful of her health,
and armed herself with courage, because she knew
that her child could only be happy through her, and
she accepted everything for the sake of the love she
bore him.
Though she could not feel any great affection for
Zabelle, she was still fond of her, because this woman,
who was half good and half selfish, continued to do
her best for the poor waif; and Madeleine, who
saw how people deteriorate who think of themselves
alone, was inclined to esteem only those who thought
sometimes of others. As she was the only person in
the neighborhood who took no care of herself, she
was entirely isolated and very sorrowful, without fully
understanding the cause of her grief.
Little by little, however, she observed that the waif,
who was then ten years old, began to think as she did.
When I say thinh^ I mean you to understand that she
judged from his behavior; for there was no more sense
in the poor child's words than on the first day she had
spoken with him. He could not express himself, and
47
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
when people tried to make him talk they were sure
to interrupt him immediately, for he knew nothing
about anything. But if he were needed to run an
errand, he was always ready, and when it was an
errand for Madeleine, he ran before she could ask
him. He looked as if he had not understood the
commission, but he executed it so swiftly and well
that even she was amazed.
One day, as he was carrying little Jeannie in his
arms, and allowing him to pull his hair for his amuse-
ment, Madeleine caught the child from him with some
slight irritation, saying half involuntarily:
'' Francois, if you begin now by suffering all the
whims of other people, there is no knowing where
they will stop."
To her great surprise, Franpois answered:
" I should rather suffer evil than return it."
Madeleine was astonished, and gazed into the eyes
of the waif, where she saw something she had never
observed in the eyes even of the most honest persons
she knew ; something so kind, and yet so decided, that
she was quite bewildered. She sat down on the grass
with her child on her knees, and made the waif sit
on the edge of her dress, without daring to speak to
him. She could scarcely understand why she was
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
overcome with fear and shame that she had often
jested with this child for being so foolish. It is true
that she had always done so with extreme gentleness,
and perhaps she had pitied and loved him the more for
his stupidity; but now she fancied that he had always
understood her ridicule, and had been pained by it
without being able to say anything in return.
She soon forgot this incident, for a short time after-
ward her husband, who had become infatuated with
a disreputable woman in the neighborhood, under-
took to hate his wife in good earnest, and to forbid
her to allow Zabelle and her boy to enter the mill.
Madeleine fell to thinking of still more secret means
of aiding them, and warned Zabelle, telling her that
she should pretend to neglect her for a time.
Zabelle was very much in awe of the miller, and
had not Madeleine's power of endurance for the love
of others. She argued to herself that the miller was
the master, and could turn her out of doors, or in-
crease her rent, and that Madeleine would be unable
to prevent it. She reflected also that if she submitted
to Mother Blanchet, she would establish herself in the
good graces of the old woman, whose protection
would be more useful to her than that of the young
wife. So she went to the miller's mother, and con-
4 49
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
fessed that she had received help from her daughter-
in-law, declaring that she had done so against her
will, and only out of pity for the waif, whom she had
no means of feeding. The old woman detested the
waif, though for no reason except that Madeleine
took an interest in him. She advised Zabelle to rid
herself of him, and promised her at this price to ob-
tain six months' credit on her rent. The morrow of
Saint Martin's day had come round, and as the year
had been a hard one, Zabelle was out of money, and
Madeleine was so closely watched that for some time
she had been unable to give her any. Zabelle boldly
promised to take back the waif to the foundling asy-
lum the next day.
She had no sooner given her word than she re-
pented of it, and at the sight of little Franp ois sleep-
ing on his wretched pallet, her heart was as heavy
as if she were about to commit a mortal sin. She
could not sleep, and before dawn Mother Blanchet
entered the hovel.
" Come, get up, Zabeau," she said. " You gave
me your promise and you must keep it. It you wait
to speak to my daughter-in-law, you will never do
anything, but you must let the boy go, in her interest
as well as your own, you see. My son has taken a
50
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
dislike to him on account of his stupidity and greed-
iness; my daughter-in-law has pampered him too
much, and I am sure that he is a thief already. All
foundlings are thieves from their birth, and it is mere
folly to expect anything of such brats. This one will
be the cause of your being driven away from here,
and will ruin your reputation ; he will furnish my son
with a reason for beating his wife every day, and in
the end, when he is tall and strong, he will become
a highwayman, and will bring you to shame. Come,
come, you must start! Take him through the fields
as far as Corley, and there the stage-coach passes at
eight o'clock. Get in with him, and you will reach
Chateauroux, at noon, at the latest. You can come
back this evening; there is a piece of money for your
journey, and you will have enough left over to amuse
yourself with in town."
Zabelle woke the child, dressed him in his best,
made a bundle of the rest of his clothes, and, taking
his hand, started off with him by the light of the
moon.
As she walked along and the day broke, her heart
failed her; she could neither hasten her steps, nor
speak, and when she came to the highroad, she sat
down on the side of a ditch, more dead than alive.
1 1
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
The stage-coach was approaching, and they had
arrived only just in time.
The waif was not in the habit of worrying, and
thus far he had followed his mother without suspi-
cion; but when he saw a huge carriage bowling
toward him for the first time in his life, the noise it
made frightened him, and he tried to pull Zabelle
back into the meadow which they had just left to
join the highroad. Zabelle thought that he under-
stood his fate, and said:
" Come, poor Francois, you really must! "
Francois was still more frightened. He thought
that the stage-coach was an enormous animal run-
ning after him to devour him. He who was so bold
in meeting all the dangers which he knew lost his
head, and rushed back screaming into the meadow.
Zabelle ran after him ; but when she saw him pale as
death, her courage deserted her. She followed him
all across the meadow, and allowed the stage-coach
to go by.
52
CHAPTER III
^T^HEY returned by the same road they had
1 come, until they had gone half the distance,
and then they stopped to rest. Zabelle was alarmed
to see that the child trembled from head to foot, and
his heart beat so violently as to agitate his poor old
shirt. She made him sit down, and attempted to
comfort him, but she did not know what she was
saying, and Franfois was not in a state to guess her
meaning. She drew out a bit of bread from her
basket and tried to persuade him to eat it; but he
had no desire for food, and they sat on for a long
time in silence.
At last, Zabelle, who was in the habit of recurring
to her first thoughts, was ashamed of her weakness,
and said to herself that she would be lost if she ap-
peared again at the mill with the child. Another
stage was to pass toward noon, and she decided to
stay where they were until the moment necessary
4* 53
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
for returning to the highroad; but as Fran9ois was
so terrified that he had lost the little sense he pos-
sessed, and as for the first time in his life he was cap-
able of resisting her will, she tried to tempt him
with the attractions of the horse's bells, the noise
of the wheels, and the speed of the great vehicle.
In her efforts to inspire him with confidence, she
said more than she intended; perhaps her repentance
urged her to speak, in spite of herself, or it may be
that when Francois woke that morning he had heard
certain words of Mother Blanchet, which now re-
turned to his mind; or else his poor wits cleared
suddenly at the approach of calamity; at all events,
he began to say, with the same expression in his
eyes which had once astonished and almost startled
Madeleine :
" Mother, you want to send me away from you !
You want to take me far off from here and leave me."
Then he remembered the word asylum, spoken
several times in his hearing. He had no idea what
an asylum was, but it seemed to him more horrible
than the stage-coach, and he cried with a shudder:
'' You want to put me in the asylum! "
Zabelle had gone too far to retreat. She believed
that the child knew more of her intentions than he
54
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
really did, and without reflecting how easy it would
be to deceive him and rid herself of him by stratagem,
she undertook to explain the truth to him, and to
make him understand that he would be much happier
at the asylum than with her, that he would be better
cared for there, would learn to work, and would be
placed for a time in the charge of some woman less
poor than herself, who would be a mother to him.
This attempted consolation put the finishing touch
to the waifs despair. A strange and unknown future
inspired him with more terror than all Zabelle could
say of the hardships of a life with her. Besides, he
loved with all his might this ungrateful mother, who
cared less for him than for herself. He loved another,
too, almost as much as Zabelle, and she was Made-
leine; only he did not know that he loved her, and
did not speak of her. He threw himself sobbing on
the ground, tore up the grass with his hands and flung
it over his face, as if he had fallen in mortal agony.
When Zabelle, in her distress and impatience, tried to
make him get up by force and threats, he beat his
head so hard against the stones that he was covered
with blood, and she thought he was about to kill
himself.
It pleased God that Madeleine Blanchet should pass
55
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
by at that moment. She had heard nothing of the de-
parture of Zabelle and the child, and was coming home
from Presles, where she had carried back some wool
to a lady, who had given it to her to spin very fine,
as she was considered the best spinster far and wide.
She had received her payment, and was returning to
the mill with ten crowns in her pocket. She was go-
ing to cross the river on one of those little pjank
bridges on a level with the surface of the water,
which are often to be met with in that part of the
country, when she heard heart-piercing shrieks,
and recognized at once the voice of the poor waif.
She flew in the direction of the cries, and saw the
child, bathed in blood, struggling in Zabelle's arms.
She could not understand it at first; for it looked as
if Zabelle had cruelly struck him, and were trying to
shake him off. This seemed the more probable, as
Francois, on catching sight of her, rushed toward her,
twined his arms about her like a little snake, and
clung to her skirts, screaming :
'' Madame Blanchet, Madame Blanchet, save me! "
Zabelle was tall and strong, and Madeleine was
small and slight as a reed. Still, she was not afraid,
and, imagining that Zabelle had gone crazy, and was
going to murder the child, she placed herself in front
56
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
of him, resolved to protect him or to die while he
was making his escape.
A few words, however, sufficed for an explanation.
Zabelle, who was more grieved than angry, told the
story, and Fran<;:ois, who at last took in all the sad-
ness of his lot, managed this time to profit by what
he heard, with more cleverness than he had ever been
supposed to possess. After Zabelle had finished, he
kept fast hold of the miller's wife, saying:
** Don't send me away, don't let me be sent
away."
And he went to and fro between Zabelle, who was
crying, and the miller's wife, who was crying still
harder, repeating all kinds of words and prayers,
which scarcely seemed to come from his lips, for
Ihis was the first time he had ever been able to
express himself.
" O my mother, my darling mother ! " said he to
Zabelle, " why do you want me to leave you? Do
you want me to die of grief and never see you again ?
What have I done, that you no longer love me?
Have I not always obeyed you? Have I done any
harm? I have always taken good care of our ani-
mals — you told me so yourself; and when you kissed
me every evening, you said I was your child, and you
57
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
never said that you were not my mother! Keep me,
mother, keep me; I am praying to you as I pray to
God! I shall always take care of you; I shall always
work for you; if you are not satisfied with me, you
may beat me, and I shall not mind; but do not send
me away until I have done something wrong."
Then he went to Madeleine, and said:
*' Madame Blanchet, take pity on me. Tell my
mother to keep me. I shall never go to your house,
since it is forbidden, and if you want to give me any-
thing, I shall know that I must not take it. I shall
speak to Master Cadet Blanchet, and tell him to beat
me and not to scold you on my account. When you
go into the fields, I shall always go with you to carry
your little boy, and amuse him all day. I shall do
all you tell me, and if I do any wrong, you need no
longer love me. But do not let me be sent away; I do
not want to go; I should rather jump into the river."
Poor Francois looked at the river, and ran so near
it, that they saw his life hung by a thread, and that
a single word of refusal would be enough to make
him drown himself. Madeleine pleaded for the child^
and Zabelle was dying to listen to her. Now that she
was near the mill, matters looked differently.
"Well, I will keep you, you naughty child," said
58
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
she; " but I shall be on the road to-morrow, begging
my bread because of you. You are too stupid to
know it is your fault that I shall be reduced to such
a condition, and this is what I have gained by bur-
dening myself with a child who is no good to me,
and does not even pay for the bread he eats."
*' You have said enough, Zabelle," said the miller's
wife, taking the child in her arms to lift him from the
ground, although he was very heavy. ''There are
ten crowns for you to pay your rent with, or to move
elsewhere, if my husband persists in driving you away
from here. It is my own money — money that I
have earned myself. I know that it will be required
of me, but no matter. They may kill me if they
want ; I buy this child, he is mine, he is yours no
longer. You do not deserve to keep a child with
such a warm heart, and who loves you so much.
I shall be his mother, and my family must submit. I
am willing to suffer everything for my children. I
could be cut in pieces for my Jeannie, and I could
endure as much for this child, too. Come, poor
Francois, you are no longer a waif, do you hear?
You have a mother, and you can love her as much as
you choose, for she will love you with her whole
heart in return."
59
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
Madeleine said all this without being perfectly
aware of what she was saying. She whose dis-
position was so gentle was now highly excited. Her
heart rebelled against Zabelle, and she was really
angry with her. Francois had thrown his arms
round the neck of the miller's wife, and clasped her
so tight that she lost her breath; and at the same
time her cap and neckerchief were stained with
blood, for his head was cut in several places.
Madeleine was so deeply affected, and was filled
with so much pity, dismay, sorrow, and determina-
tion at once, that she set out to walk toward the
mill with as much courage as a soldier advancing
under fire. Without considering that the child was
heavy, and she herself so weak that she could hardly
carry her small Jeannie, she attempted to cross the
unsteady little bridge that sank under her weight.
When she reached the middle, she stopped. The
child was so heavy that she swerved slightly, and
drops of perspiration started from her forehead. She
felt as if she should fall from weakness, when sud-
denly she called to mind a beautiful and marvelous
story that she had read the evening before in an old
volume of the *^ Lives of the Saints." It was the
story of Saint Christopher, who carried the child
60
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Jesus across the river, and found him so heavy that
he stopped in fear. She looked dow^n at the waif
His eyes had rolled back in his head, and his arms
had relaxed their hold. The poor child had either
undergone too much emotion, or he had lost too
much blood, and had fainted.
6i
CHAPTER IV
WHEN Zabelle saw him thus, she thought he
was dead. All her love for him returned,
and with no more thought of the miller or his
wicked old mother, she seized the child from Made-
leine, and began to kiss him, with sobs and cries.
They sat down beside the river, and, laying him across
their knees, they washed his wounds and stanched
the blood with their handkerchiefs; but they had
nothing with which to bring him to. Madeleine
warmed his head against her bosom, and breathed
on his face and into his mouth as people do with
the drowned. This revived him, and as soon as he
opened his eyes and saw what care they were taking
of him, he kissed Madeleine and Zabelle, one after
the other, so passionately that they were obliged to
check him, fearing that he might faint again.
'* Come, come," said Zabelle, " we must go home.
No, I can never, never leave that child; I see now,
62
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
and I shall never think of it again. I shall keep
your ten crowns, Madeleine, so I can pay my rent
to-night if I am forced to do so. Do not tell about
it; I shall go to-morrow to the lady in Presles, so
that she may not inform against you, and she can
say, in case of need, that she has not as yet given
you the price of your spinning. In this way we
shall gain time, and I shall try so hard that, even if I
have to beg for it, I shall succeed in paying my debt
to you, so that you need not suffer on my account.
You cannot take this child to the mill; your hus-
band would kill him. Leave him to me; I swear to
you that I shall take as good care of him as before,
and if we are tormented any further, we can think
of something else."
It came to pass that the waifs return was effected
without disturbance, and without exciting attention ;
for it happened that Mother Blanchet had just fallen
ill of a stroke of apoplexy, without having had an
opportunity of telling her son what she had exacted
from Zabelle about the waif, and Master Blanchet
sent in all haste for Zabelle to come and help in the
household, while Madeleine and the servant were
taking care of his mother. For three days every-
thing was in confusion at the mill. Madeleine did
63
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
not spare herself, and watched for three nights at
the bedside of her husband's mother, who died in
her arms.
This blow allayed the miller's bad temper for some
time. He had loved his mother as much as he was
capable of loving, and his vanity was concerned in
making as fine a funeral for her as his means allowed.
He forgot his mistress for the required time, and with
pretended generosity distributed his dead mother's
clothes to the poor neighbors. Zabelle had her
share of the alms, and the waif received a franc
piece, because Blanchet remembered that once, when
they were in urgent need of leeches for the sick
woman, and everybody was running futilely hither
and thither to look for them, the waif went off,
without saying a word, to fish some out of a pool
where he knew they were, and brought them back
in less time than it took the others to start out for
them.
So Cadet Blanchet gradually forgot his dislike, and
nobody at the mill knew of Zabelle's freak of send-
ing back the waif to the asylum. The question of
Madeleine's ten crowns came up later, for the miller
did not neglect to make Zabelle pay the rent for her
wretched cottage. Madeleine said that she had lost
64
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
them as she ran home through the fields, on hearing
of her mother-in-law's accident. Blanchet made a
long search for them and scolded a great deal, but
he never found out the use to which the money had
been put, and Zabelle was not suspected.
After his mother's death, Blanchet's disposition
changed little by little, though not for the better.
He found life still more tedious at home, was less
observant of what went on, and less niggardly in
his expenditure. He no longer earned anything, and,
in proportion as he grew fat, led a disorderly life,
and cared no more for his work. He looked to make
his profit by dishonest bargains and unfair dealings,
which would have enriched him, if he had not spent
on one hand what he gained on the other. His
mistress acquired more ascendency over him every
day. She took him with her to fairs and feasts, in-
duced him to engage in petty trickeries, and spend
his time at the tavern. He learned how to gamble,
and was often lucky; but it would have been better
for him to lose always than acquire this unfortunate
taste; for his dissipations threw him entirely off his
balance, and at the most trifling loss, he became furi-
ous with himself, and ill-tempered toward everybody
else.
s 65
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
While he was leading this wretched life, his wife,
always wise and good, governed the house and ten-
derly reared their only child. But she thought herself
doubly a mother, for she loved and watched over the
waif almost as much as if he were her own. As her
husband became more dissolute, she was less miser-
able and more her own mistress. In the beginning
of his licentious career he was still very churlish, be-
cause he dreaded reproaches, and wished to hold his
wife in a state of fear and subjection. When he saw
that she was by nature an enemy to strife, and showed
no jealousy, he made up his mind to leave her in peace.
As his mother was no longer there to stir him up
against her, he was obliged to recognize that no other
woman was as thrifty as Madeleine. He grew accus-
tomed to spend whole weeks away from home, and
whenever he came back in the mood for a quarrel,
he met with a mute patience that turned away his
wrath, and he was first astonished and ended by go-
ing to sleep. So finally he came to see his wife only
when he was tired and in need of rest.
Madeleine must have been a very Christian woman
to live thus alone with an old servant and two chil-
dren, and perhaps she was a still better Christian than
if she had been a nun. God had given her the great
66
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
privilege of learning to read, and of understanding
what she read. Yet she always read the same
thing, for she possessed only two books, the Holy
Gospel and an abbreviated copy of the ''Lives of the
Saints." The Gospel sanctified her, and saddened her
to tears, when she read alone in the evening beside
her son's bed. The '' Lives of the Saints" produced
a different effect upon her ; it was just as when idle
people read stories and excite themselves over dreams
and illusions. These beautiful tales inspired her with
courage and even gaiety. Sometimes, out in the fields,
the waif saw her smile and flush, when she had her
book in her lap. He wondered at it, and found it hard
to understand how the stories which she told him,
with some little alteration in order to adapt them to
his capacity (and also perhaps because she could not
perfectly grasp them from beginning to end), could
come from that thing which she called her book. He
wanted to read, too, and learned so quickly and well
that she was amazed, and in his turn he was able to
teach little Jeannie. When Francois was old enough
to make his first communion, Madeleine helped him
with his catechism, and the parish priest was de-
lighted with the intelligence and excellent memory
of this child, who had always passed for a simpleton,
67
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
because he was very shy and never had anything
to say.
After his first communion, and he was old enough
to be hired out, Zabelle was pleased to have him
engaged as servant at the mill ; and Master Blanchet
made no opposition, because it was plain to all that
the waif was a good boy, very industrious and oblig-
ing, and stronger, more alert and sensible than the
other children of his age. Then, too, he was satisfied
with ten crowns for wages, and it was an economical
arrangement for the miller. Francois was very happy
to be entirely in the service of Madeleine and the dear
little Jeannie he loved so much, and when he found
that Zabelle could pay for her farm with his earnings,
and thus be relieved of her most besetting care, he
thought himself as rich as a king.
Unfortunately, poor Zabelle could not long enjoy
her reward. At the beginning of the winter, she fell
seriously ill, and in spite of receiving every care from
the waif and Madeleine, she died on Candlemas Day,
after having so far recovered that they thought her
well again. Madeleine sorrowed and wept for her
sincerely, but she tried to comfort the poor waif, who
but for her would have been inconsolable.
Even after a year's time, he still thought of her
6S
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
every day, and almost every instant. Once he said
to the miller's wife :
*' I feel a kind of remorse when I pray for my poor
mother's soul; it is because I did not love her enough.
I am very sure that I always did my best to please
her, that I never said any but kind words to her, and
that I served her in all ways as I serve you ; but I
must confess something, Madame Blanchet, which
troubles me, and for which, in secret, I often ask
God's forgiveness. Ever since the day my poor
mother wanted to send me back to the asylum, and
you took my part, and prevented her doing so, my
love for her, against my will, grew less. 1 was not
angry with her ; I did not allow myself even to think
that she was wrong in trying to rid herself of me.
It was her right to do so; I stood in her way; she
was afraid of your mother-in-law, and after all she
did it very reluctantly; for I could see that she loved
me greatly. In some way or other, the idea keeps
recurring to my mind, and I cannot drive it away.
From the moment you said to me those words which
I shall never forget, I loved you more than her, and
in spite of all I could do, I thought of you more often
than of her. She is dead now, and I did not die of
grief as I should if you died! "
5* 69
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
'^ What were the words I said, my poor child,
that made you love me so much? I do not remem-
ber them."
''You do not remember them?" said the waif,
sitting down at the feet of Madeleine, who was turn-
ing her wheel as she listened. '* When you gave the
crowns to my mother, you said: ' There, I buy that
child of you; he is mine! ' And then you kissed me
and said: 'Now you are no longer a waif; you have
a mother who will love you as if you were her own ! *
Did not you say so, Madame Blanchet? "
" If I did, I said what I meant, and am still of the
same mind. Do you think I have failed to keep my
word?"
''Oh no! only—"
"Only what?"
"No. I cannot tell you, for it is wrong to com-
plain and be thankless and ungrateful."
" I know that you cannot be ungrateful, and I want
you to say what you have on your mind. Come, in
what respict don't I treat you like my own child? I
order you to tell me, as I should order Jeannie."
" Well, it is — it is that you kiss Jeannie very often,
and have never kissed me since the day we were just
speaking of. Yet I am careful to keep my face and
70
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
hands very clean, because I know that you do not
like dirty children, and are always running after
Jeannie to wash and comb him. But this does not
make you kiss me any more, and my mother Zabelle
did not kiss me either. I see that other mothers caress
their children, and so I know that I am always a
waif, and that you cannot forget it."
** Come and kiss me, Francois," said the miller's
wife, making the child sit on her knees and kissing
him with much feeling. " It is true that I did wrong
never to think of it, and you deserved better of me.
You see now that I kiss you with all my heart, and
you are very sure that you are not a waif, are not you ? "
The child flung his arms round Madeleine's neck,
and turned so pale that she was surprised, and put-
ting him down gently from her lap, tried to distract
his attention. After a minute, he left her, and ran
off to hide. The miller's wife felt some uneasiness,
and making a search for him, she finally found him
on his knees, in a corner of the barn, bathed in tears.
''What does this mean, Francois?" said she,
raising him up. *' I don't know what is the matter
with you. If you are thinking of your poor mother
Zabelle, you had better say a prayer for her, and then
you will feel more at rest."
7^
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
*' No, no," said the child, twisting the end of
Madeleine's apron, and kissing it with all his might.
''Are not you my mother? "
"Why are you crying then? You give me pain! "
" Oh, no ! oh, no ! I am not crying," answered
Francois, drying his eyes quickly, and looking up
cheerfully; " I mean, I do not know why I was cry-
ing. Truly, I cannot understand it, for I am as happy
as if I were in heaven."
72
CHAPTER V
FROM that day on Madeleine kissed the child,
morning and evening, neither more nor less
than if he had been her own, and the only difference
she made between Jeannie and Francois was that
the younger was the more petted and spoiled as be-
came his age. He was only seven, while the waif
was twelve, and Francois understood perfectly that
a big boy like him could not be caressed like a little
one. Besides, they were still more unlike in looks
than in years. Francois was so tall and strong that
he passed for fifteen, and Jeannie was small and
slender like his mother, whom he greatly resembled.
It happened one morning, when she had just re-
ceived Francois's greeting on her door-step, and had
kissed him as usual, her servant said to her:
*M mean no offense, my good mistress, but it
seems to me that boy is very big to let you kiss
him as if he were a little girl."
73
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
*' Do you think so?" answered Madeleine, in as-
tonishment. " Don't you know how young he is? "
"Yes, and I should not see any harm in it, except
that he is a waif, and though I am only your servant,
I would not be hired to kiss any such riff-raff."
''What you say is wrong, Catherine," returned
Madame Blanchet ; " and above all, you should not
say it before the poor child."
'' She may say it, and everybody else may say it,
too," replied Francois, boldly. '' I don't care; if I
am not a waif for you, Madame Blanchet, I am very
well satisfied."
*' Only hear him! " said the servant. " This is the
first time I ever knew him to talk so much at once.
Then you know how to put two or three words to-
gether, do you, Francois ? I really thought you could
not even understand what other people said. If I
had known that you were listening, I should not
have spoken before you as I did, for I have no idea
of hurting your feelings. You are a good, quiet,
obliging boy. Come, you must not think of it any
more; if it seems odd to me for our mistress to kiss
you, it is only because you are too big for it, and so
much coddling makes you look sillier than you really
are„"
74
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
Having tried to mend matters in this way, big
Catherine set about making her soup, and forgot all
about what had passed.
The waif followed Madeleine to the place where
she did her washing, and sitting down beside her,
he spoke as he knew how to speak with her and for
her alone.
" Do you remember, Madame Blanchet," said he,
*' how I was here once, long ago, and you let me go
to sleep in your shawl ? "
*' Yes, my child," said she, " it was the first time
we ever saw each other."
*' Was it the first time? I was not certain, for I
cannot recollect very well; when 1 think of that
time, it is all like a dream. How many years ago
is it ? "
" It is — wait a minute — it is nearly six years, for
my Jeannie was fourteen months old."
*' So I was not so old then as he is now ? When
he has made his first communion, do you think he
will remember all that is happening to him now ? "
"Oh! yes, I shall be sure to remember," cried
Jeannie.
** That may be so or not," said Fran<pois. "What
were you doing yesterday at this hour ? "
75
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Jeannie was startled, and opened his mouth to an-
swer; then he stopped short, much abashed.
''Well! I wager that you cannot give a better
account of yourself, either," said the miller's wife to
Fran9ois. She always took pleasure in listening to
the prattle of the two children.
'' I ? " said the waif, embarrassed, '' wait a moment
— I was going to the fields, and passed by this very
place — I was thinking of you. Indeed, it was yes-
terday that the day when you wrapped me up in
your shawl came into my mind."
''You have a good memory, and it is surprising
that you can remember so far back. Can you re-
member that you were ill with fever ? "
"No, indeed!"
"And that you carried home my linen without
my asking you ? "
"No."
" I have always remembered it, because that was
the way I found out how good your heart was."
" I have a good heart too, have n't I, mother?"
said little Jeannie, presenting his mother with an
apple which he had half eaten.
" To be sure you have, and you must try to copy
^Franfois in all the good things you see him do."
76
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
'' Oh, yes! " answered the child quickly, '' I shall
jump on the yellow colt this evening, and shall ride
it into pasture."
" Shall you ? " said Francois, laughing. '^ Are you,
too, going to climb up the great ash-tree to hunt
tomtits? 1 shall let you do it, my little fellow! But
listen, Madame Blanchet, there is something I want
to ask of you, but I do not know whether you will
tell it to me."
" Let me hear."
* ' Why do they think they hurt my feelings when
they call me a waif? Is there any harm in being a
waif? "
"No; certainly not, my child, since it is no fault of
yours."
"Whose fault is it?"
" It is the fault of the rich people."
"The fault of the rich people! What does that
mean ? "
" You are asking a great many questions to-day;
I shall answer you by and by."
"No, no; right away, Madame Blanchet."
" I cannot explain it to you. In the first place, do
you know yourself what it is to be a waif? "
"Yes; it is being put in a foundling asylum by
77
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
your father and mother, because they have no money
to feed you and bring you up."
" Yes, that is it. So you see that there are people
so wretched as not to be able to bring up their own
children, and that is the fault of the rich who do not
help them."
" You are right! " answered the waif very thought-
fully. '' Yet there are some good rich people, since
you are one, Madaipe Blanchet, and it is only neces-
sary to fall in their way."
78
CHAPTER VI
NEVERTHELESS, the waif, who was always
musing and trying to find reasons for every-
thing since he had learned to read and had made his
first communion, kept pondering over what Catherine
had said to Madame Blanchet about him ; but it was
in vain that he reflected, for he could never under-
stand why, now that he was growing older, he
should no longer kiss Madeleine. He was the most
innocent boy in the world, and had no suspicion of
what boys of his age learn all too quickly in the
country.
His great simplicity of mind was the result of his
singular bringing-up. He had never felt his position
as a foundling to be a disgrace, but it had made him
very shy; for though he had not taken the title as an
insult, he was always surprised to find he possessed
a characteristic which made a difference between
himself and those with whom he associated. Found-
79
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
lings are apt to be humbled by their fate, which is
generally thrust upon them so harshly that they lose
early their self-respect as Christians. They grow up
full of hatred toward those who brought them into
the world, not to speak of those who helped them
to remain in it. It happened, however, that Fran-
cois had fallen into the hands of Zabelle, who loved
him and treated him with kindness, and afterward
he had met with Madeleine, who was the most
charitable and compassionate of women. She had
been a good mother to him, and a waif who receives
affection is better than other children, just as he is
worse when he is abused and degraded.
Francois had never known any amusement or
perfect content except when in the company of
Madeleine, and instead of running off with the other
shepherd-boys for his recreation, he had grown up
quite solitary, or tied to the apron-strings of the two
women who loved him. Especially when with Made-
leine, he was as happy as Jeannie could be, and he
was in no haste to play with the other children, who
were sure to call him a waif, and with whom he
soon felt himself a stranger, though he could not
tell why.
So he reached the age of fifteen without any
80
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
knowledge of wrong or conception of evil; his lips
had never uttered an unclean word, nor had his ears
taken in the meaning of one. Yet, since the day
that Catherine had censured his mistress for the affec-
tion she showed him, the child had the great good
sense and judgment to forego his morning kiss from
the miller's wife. He pretended to forget about it, or
perhaps to be ashamed of being coddled like a little
girl, as Catherine had said. But at the bottom, he
had no such false shame, and he would have laughed
at the idea, had he not guessed that the sweet wo-
man he loved might incur blame on his account.
Why should she be blamed? He could not under-
stand it, and though he saw that he could never find
it out by himself, he shrank from asking Madeleine
for an explanation. He knew that her strength of
love and kindness of heart had enabled her to endure
the carping of others ; for he had a good memory,
and recollected that Madeleine had been upbraided,
and had narrowly escaped blows in former years be-
cause of her goodness to him.
Now, owing to his good instincts, he spared her
the annoyance of being rebuked and ridiculed on his
account. He understood, and it is wonderful that
the poor child could understand, that a waif was
6 8i
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
to be loved only in secret ; and rather than cause
any trouble to Madeleine, he would have consented
to do without her love.
He was attentive to his work, and as, in propor-
tion as he grew older, he had more to do, it hap-
pened that he was less and less with Madeleine. He
did not grieve for this, for, as he toiled, he said to
himself that it was for her, and that he would have
his reward in seeing her at meals. In the evening,
when Jeannie was asleep and Catherine had gone to
bed, Francois still stayed up with Madeleine while
she worked, and read aloud to her, or talked with
her. Peasants do not read very fast, so that the two
books they had were quite sufficient for them. When
they read three pages in an evening they thought it
was a gi-eat deal, and when the book was finished,
so much time had passed since the beginning that
they could take it up again at the first page without
finding it too familiar. There are two ways of read-
ing, and it may not be amiss to say so to those per-
sons who think themselves well educated. Those
who have much time to themselves and many books,
devour so many of them and cram so much stuff
into their heads, that they are utterly confused;
but those who have neither leisure nor libraries are
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
happy when a good book falls into their hands.
They begin it over again a thousand times without
weariness^ and every time something strikes them
which they had not observed before. In the main,
the idea is always the same, but it is so much dwelt
upon, so thoroughly enjoyed and digested^ that the
single mind which possesses it is better fed and more
healthy than thirty thousand brains full of wind and
twaddle. What I am telling you, my children, I have
from the parish priest, who knows all about it.
So these two persons lived happy with what they
had to consume in the matter of learning; and they
consumed it slowly, helping each other to understand
and love all that makes us just and good. Thus they
grew in piety and courage; and they had no greater
joy than to feel themselves at peace with all the
world, and to be of one mind at all times and in all
places, on the subject of the truth and the desire of
holy living.
83
CHAPTER VII
MASTER BLANCH ET was no longer particular
concerning his household expenses, because
he had fixed the amount of money which he gave to
his wife every month for her housekeeping, and made
it as little as possible. Madeleine could, without dis-
pleasing him, deprive herself of her own comfort in
order to give alms to the poor about her; sometimes
a little wood, another time part of her own dinner,
again some vegetables, some clothing, some eggs,
and so on. She spent all she had in the service of
her neighbors, and when her money was exhausted,
she did with her own hands the work of the poor, so
as to save the lives of those among them who were ill
and worn out. She was so economical, and mended
her old clothes so carefully, that she appeared to live
comfortably; and yet she was so anxious that her
family should not suffer for what she gave away,
that she accustomed herself to eat scarcely anything,
84
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
never to rest, and to sleep as little as possible. The
waif saw all this, and thought it quite natural ; for it
was in his character, as well as in the education he
received from Madeleine, to feel the same inclination,
and to be drawn toward the same duty. Sometimes,
only, he was troubled by the great hardships which
the miller's wife endured, and blamed himself for
sleeping and eating too much. He would gladly have
spent the night sewing and spinning in her place;
and when she tried to pay him his wages, which had
risen to nearly twenty crowns, he refused to take them,
and obliged her to keep them without the miller's
knowledge.
" If my mother Zabelle were alive," said he, ''this
money would be for her. What do you expect me to
do with it? I have no need of it, since you take care
of my clothes, and provide me with sabots. Keep it
for somebody more unfortunate than I am. You
work so hard for the poor already, and if you give
money to me, you must work still harder. If you
should fall ill and die like poor Zabelle, I should like
to know what good it would do me to have my
chest full of money. Would it bring you back
again, or prevent me from throwing myself in the
river ? "
6* 85
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
'^ You do not know what you are talking about,
my child," said Madeleine, one day that this idea re-
turned to his mind, as happened from time to time.
'Mt is not a Christian act to kill oneself, and if I
should die, it would be your duty to live after me to
comfort and help my Jeannie. Should not you do
that for me ? "
'* Yes, as long as Jeannie was a child and needed
my love. But afterward! Do not let us speak of
this, Madame Blanchet. I cannot be a good Chris-
tian on this point. Do not tire yourself out, and do
not die, if you want me to live on this earth."
" You may set your mind at ease, for I have no
wish to die. I am well. I am hardened to work,
and now I am even stronger than I was in my
youth."
" In your youth! " exclaimed Francois in astonish-
ment. '' Are not you young, then ? "
And he was afraid lest she might have reached the
age for dying.
*' I think I never had time to be young," an-
swered Madeleine, laughing like one who meets mis-
fortune bravely. " Now I am twenty-five years old,
and that is a good deal for a woman of my make;
for I was not born strong like you, my boy, and I
86
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
have had sorrows which have aged me more than
years."
''Sorrows! Heavens, yes! I knew it very well,
when Monsieur Blanchet used to speak so roughly to
you. God forgive me ! I am not a wicked boy, yet
once when he raised his hand against you as if to
strike you — Oh! he did well to change his mind, for
I had seized a flail, — nobody had noticed me, — and
I was going to fall upon him. But that was a long
time ago, Madame Blanchet, for I remember that I
was much shorter than he then, and now I can look
right over his head. And now that he scarcely
speaks to you any more, Madame Blanchet, you are
no longer unhappy, are you ? "
*'So you think I am no longer unhappy, do
you ? " said Madeleine rather sharply, thinking how
it was that there had never been any love in her
marriage. Then she checked herself, for what she
was going to say was no concern of the waifs, and
she had no right to put such ideas into a child's head.
*' You are right," said she; '' I am no longer un-
happy. I live as I please. My husband is much
kinder to me; my son is well and strong, and I have
nothing to complain of."
" Then don't I enter into your calculations? I — "
87
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
" You? You are well and strong, too, and that
pleases me."
** Don't I please you in any other way ? "
*' Yes, you are a good boy; you are always right-
minded, and I am satisfied with you."
"Oh! if you were not satisfied with me, what a
scamp, what a good-for-nothing I should be, after
the way in which you have treated me! But there
is still something else which ought to make you
happy, if you think as I do."
"Very well, tell me; for I do not know what
puzzle you are contriving for me."
" I mean no puzzle, Madame Blanchet. I need
but look into my heart, and I see that even if I had
to suffer hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, and were to
be beaten half to death every day into the bargain,
and then had only a bundle of thorns or a heap of
stones to lie on — well, can you understand? "
" I think so, my dear Francois; you could be
happy in spite of so much evil if only your heart
were at peace with God."
" Of course that is true, and I need not speak of
it. But I meant something else."
" I cannot imagine what you are aiming at, and I
see that you are cleverer than I am»"
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
" No, I am not clever. I mean that I could suffer
all the pains that a man living mortal life can en-
dure, and could still be happy if I thought Madame
Blanchet loved me. That is the reason why I just
said to you that if you thought as I did, you would
say : ' Francois loves me, and I am content to be
alive.'"
"You are right, my poor dear child," answered
Madeleine; "and the things you say to me some-
times make me want to cry. Yes, truly, your af-
fection for me is one of the joys of my life, and
perhaps the greatest, after — no, I mean with my
Jeannie's. As you are older than he, you can under-
stand better what I say to you, and you can better
explain your thoughts to me. I assure you that I am
never wearied when I am with both of you, and the
only prayer I make to God is that we may long
be able to live together as we do now, without
separating."
"Without separating, I should think so!" said
Francois. " I should rather be cut into little pieces
than leave you. Who else would love me as you
have loved me? Who would run the danger of
being ill-treated for the sake of a poor waif, and
who would call me her child, her dear son ? For you
89
^
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
call me so often, almost always. You often say
to me when we are alone: 'Call me mother, and
not always Madame Blanchet.' I do not dare to do
so, because I am afraid of becoming accustomed to
it and letting it slip out before somebody."
" Well, even if you did so ? "
"Oh! you would be sure to be blamed for it, and
I do not like to have you tormented on my account.
I am not proud, and I do not care to have it known
that you have raised me from my orphan estate. I
am satisfied to know, all by myself, that I have a
mother and am her child. Oh! you must not die,
Madame Blanchet," added poor Francois, looking at
her sadly, for his thoughts had long been running on
possible calamity. 'Mf I lost you, I should have no
other friend on this earth; you would go straight
into Paradise, and I am not sure that I deserve ever
to receive the reward of going there with you."
Francois had a kind of foreboding of heavy mis-
fortune in all he said and thought, and some little
time afterward the misfortune fell.
He had become the servant of the mill, and it was
his duty to make the round of the customers of the
mill, to carry their corn away on his horse, and return
it to them in flour. This sometimes obliged him to
90
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
take long rides, and for this same purpose he often
visited Blanchet's mistress, who lived about a league
from the mill. He was not at all fond of this com-
mission, and would never linger an instant in her
house after her corn was weighed and measured.
At this point of the tale the narrator stopped.
''Are you aware that I have been talking a long
titne?" said she to her friends, who were listening.
*' My lungs are not so strong as they once were, and
I think that the hemp-dresser, who knows the story
better than I, might relieve me, especially as we have
just come to a place that I do not remember so well."
*' I know why your memory is not so good in the
middle as in the beginning," answered the hemp-
dresser. '* It is because the waif is about to get inta
trouble, and you cannot stand it, because you are
chicken-hearted about love stories, like all other
pious women,"
*' Is this going to turn into a love story?" asked
Sylvine Courtioux, who happened to be present.
" Good ! " replied the hemp-dresser. " I knew
that if I let out that word, all the young girls would
91
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
prick up their ears. But you must have patience; the
part of the story which I am going to take up on
condition that 1 may carry it to a happy close is not
yet what you want to hear. Where had you come
to, Mother Monique ? "
^' I had come to Blanchet's mistress."
^' That was it," said the hemp-dresser. The wo-
man was called Severe, but her name was not well
suited to her, for there was nothing to match it in
her disposition. She was very clever about hood-
winking people when she wanted to get money out
of them. She cannot be called entirely bad, for she
was of a joyous, careless temper; but she thought
only of herself, and cared not at all for the loss of
others, provided that she had all the finery and rec-
reation she wanted. She had been the fashion in the
country, and it was said that she had found many
men to her taste. She was still a very handsome,
buxom woman, alert though stout, and rosy as a
cherry. She paid but little attention to the waif, and
if she met him in her barn or court-yard she made
fun of him with some nonsense or other, but without
malicious intent and for the pleasure of seeing him
blush; for he blushed like a girl, and was ill at ease
whenever she spoke to him. He thought her brazen,
92
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
and she seemed both ugly and wicked in his eyes,
though she was neither one nor the other; at least,
she was only spiteful when she was crossed in her
interests or her vanity, and I must even acknowledge
that she liked to give almost as much as to receive.
She was ostentatiously generous, and enjoyed being
thanked ; but to the mind of the waif she was a
devil, who reduced Madame Blanchet to want and
drudgery.
Nevertheless, it happened that when the waif was
seventeen years old, Madame Severe discovered that
he was a deucedly handsome fellow. He was not
like most country boys, who, at his age, are dumpy
and thick-set, and only develop into something worth
looking at two or three years later. He was already
tall and well-built ; his skin was white, even at har-
vest-time, and his tight curling hair was brown at the
roots and golden at the ends.
" Do you admire that sort of thing, Madame
Monique? I mean the hair, without any reference
to boys."
"That is no business of yours," answered the
priest's servant. *'Go on with your story."
He was always poorly dressed, but he loved clean-
liness, as Madeleine Blanchet had taught him ; and
93
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
such as he was, he had an air that no one else had.
Severe noticed this little by little^ and finally she was
so well aware of it that she took it into ner head to
thaw him out a little. She was not a woman of pre-
judice, and when she heard anyboay say, " What a
pity that such a handsome boy should be a waif!"
she answered, " There is every reason that waifs
should be handsome, for love brought them into the
world."
She devised the following plan for being in his
company. She made Blanchet drink immoderately
at the fair of Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet, and when she
saw that he was no longer able to put one foot be-
fore the other, she asked the friends she had in the
place to put him to bed. Then she said to Francois,
who had come with his master to drive his animals
to the fair :
*' My lad, I am going to leave my mare for your
master to return with to-morrow morning; you may
mount his and take me home on the crupper."
This arrangement was not at all to Fran(pois's taste.
He said that the mare that belonged to the mill
was not strong enough to carry two people, and he
offered to accompany Severe home, if she rode her
own horse and allowed him to ride Blanchet's. He
94
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
promised to come back immediately with a fresh
mount for his master, and to reach Saint-Denis-de-
Jouhet early the next morning; but Severe would listen
to him no more than the wind, and ordered him to
obey her. Franpois was afraid of her; for, as Blanchet
saw with no eyes but hers, she could have him sent
away from the mill if he displeased her, especially as
the feast of Saint-Jean was near at hand. So he took
her up behind him, without suspecting, poor fellow,
that this was not the best means of escaping his evil
destiny.
95
CHAPTER VIII
IT was twilight when they set out, and when they
passed the sluice of the pond of Rochefolle night
had already fallen. The moon had not yet risen above
the trees, and in that part of the country the roads
are so washed by numerous springs that they are
not at all good. Fran(;;ois spurred his mare on to
speed, for he disliked the company of Severe, and
longed to be with Madame Blanchet.
But Severe, who was in no haste to reach home,
began to play the part of a fine lady, saying that she
was afraid, and that the mare must not go faster
than a walk, because she did not lift her legs well and
might stumble at any minute.
'' Bah ! " said Francois without paying any atten-
tion; "then it would be the first time she said her
prayers, for I never saw a mare so disinclined to
piety!"
** You are witty, Francois," said Severe giggling,
06
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
as if Francois had said something very new and
amusing.
'' Oh, no indeed! " answered the waif, who thought
she was laughing at him.
" Come," said she, ''you surely cannot mean to
trot down-hill?"
^' You need not fear, for we can trot perfectly
well."
The trot down-hill stopped the stout Severe's
breath, and prevented her talking. She was ex-
tremely vexed, as she had expected to coax the
young man with her soft words, but she was un-
willing to let him see that she was neither young
nor slender enough to stand fatigue, and was silent
for a part of the way.
When they came to a chestnut grove, she took it
into her head to say:
''Stop, Francois; you must stop, dear Francois.
The mare has just lost a shoe,"
"Even if she has lost a shoe," said Franpois,
*' I have neither hammer nor nails to put it on
with."
" But we must not lose the shoe. It is worth
something! Get down, I say, and look for it."
" I might look two hours for it, among these
7 97
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
ferns, without finding it. And my eyes are not
lanterns."
"Oh, yes, Franpois," said Severe, half in jest
and half in earnest; ''your eyes shine like glow-
worms."
"Then you can see them through my hat, I sup-
pose ? " answered Francois, not at all pleased with
what he took for derision.
" I cannot see them just now," said Severe with a
sigh as big as herself; "but I have seen them at
other times! "
" You can never have seen anything amiss in
them," returned the innocent waif. " You may as
well leave them alone, for they have never looked
rudely at you and never will."
"I think," broke in at this moment the priest's
servant, " that you might skip this part of the story.
It is not very interesting to hear all the bad devices.
of this wicked woman, for ensnaring our waif."
"Put yourself at ease. Mother Monique," replied
the hemp-dresser. " I shall skip as much as is proper.
I know that I am speaking before young people, and
I shall not say a word too much."
We were just speaking of Francois's eyes, the ex-
98
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
pression of which Severe was trying to make less
irreproachable than he had declared it to be.
''How old are you, Francois?" said she with
more politeness, so as to let him understand that
she was no longer going to treat him like a little
boy.
''Oh, Heavens! I don't know exactly," answered
the waif, beginning to perceive her clumsy advances.
"I do not often amuse myself by reckoning my
years."
" I heard that you were only seventeen," she re-
sumed, "but I wager that you must be twenty,
for you are tall, and will soon have a beard on
your chin."
" It is all the same to me," said Franpois, yawning.
"Take care! You are going too fast, my boy.
There! I have just lost my purse! "
"The deuce you have! " said Francois, who had
not as yet discovered how sly she was. " Then I
suppose that you must get off and look for it, for it
maybe of value."
He jumped down and helped her to dismount.
She took pains to lean against him, and he found her
heavier than a sack of corn.
While she pretended to search for the purse, which
99
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
was all the time in her pocket, he went on five or
six steps, holding the mare by the bridle.
*' Are not you going to help me look for it ? " said
she.
"1 must hold the mare," said he, "for she is think-
ing of her colt, and if I let her loose she will run home. "
Severe looked under the mare's leg, close beside
Franfois, and from this he saw that she had lost
nothing except her senses.
**We had not come as far as this," said he,
** when you called out that you had lost your purse.
So you certainly cannot find it here."
"Do you think I am shamming, you rogue?"
said she, trying to pull his ear; " for I really believe
that you are a rogue."
Francois drew back, as he was in no mood for a
frolic.
"No, no," said he, "if you have found your
money, let us go, for I should rather be asleep than
stay here jesting."
"Then we can talk," said Severe, when she was
seated again behind him; "they say that beguiles
the weariness of the road."
" I need no beguiling," answered the waif, "for I
am not weary."
ICO
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
"That is th6-fuk' Ve^t>^speec^^>0i>^ave-nia'd«
me^ Franfois! "
" If it is a pretty speech, I made it by accident, for
I do not understand that sort of thing."
Severe was exasperated, but she would not as yet
give in to the truth.
** The boy must be a simpleton," said she to her-
self. " If 1 make him lose his way, he will have to
stay a little longer with me.''*
So she tried to mislead him, and to induce him to
turn to the left when he was going to the right.
" You are making a mistake," said she; "this is
the first time you have been over this road. I know
it better than you do. Take my advice, or you will
make me spend the night in the woods, young
man! "
When Francois had once been over a road, he
knew it so perfectly that he could fmd his way in it
at the end of a year.
"No, no," said he, "this is the right way, and I
am not in the least out of my head. The mare
knows it too, and I have no desire to spend the
night rambling about the woods."
Thus he reached the farm of Dollins, where Severe
lived, without losing a quarter of an hour and with-
7* I.-: I
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
cut giving an epe^{ing•as^vWde^as*th5'eye of a needle
to her advances. Once there, she tried to detain
him, insisting that the night was dark, that the
water had risen, and that he would have difficulty in
crossing the fords. The waif cared not a whit for
these dangers, and, bored with so many foolish words,
he struck the mare with his heels, galloped off with-
out waiting to hear the rest, and returned swiftly to
the mill, where Madeleine Blanchet was waiting for
him, grieved that he should come so late.
CHAPTER IX
THE waif never told Madeleine what Severe had
given him to understand; he would not have
dared, and indeed dared not even think of it himself.
I cannot say that I should have behaved as discreetly ^
as he in such an adventure; but a little discretion
never does any harm, and then 1 am telling things as
they happened. This boy was as refined as a well-
brought-up girl.
As Madame Severe thought over the matter at
night, she became incensed against him, and per-
ceived that he had scorned her and was not the fool
she had taken him for. Chafing at this thought, her
spleen rose, and great projects of revenge passed
through her head.
So much so that when Cadet Blanchet, still half
drunk, returned to her next morning, she gave him
to understand that his mill-boy was a little upstart,
whom she had been obliged to hold in check and
103
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
cuff in the face, because he had taken it into his
head to make love to her and kiss her as they came
home together through the wood at night.
This was more than enough to disorder Blanchet's
wits; but she was not yet satisfied, and jeered at
him for leaving at home with his wife a fellow who
would be inclined by his age and character to be-
guile the dullness of her life.
In the twinkling of an eye, Blanchet was jealous
both of his mistress and his wife. He seized his
heavy stick, pulled his hat down over his eyes, like
an extinguisher on a candle, and rushed off to the
mill, without stopping for breath.
Fortunately, the waif was not there. He had gone
away to fell and saw up a tree that Blanchet had
bought from Blanchard of Guerin, and was not to
return till evening. Blanchet would have gone to
find him at his work, but he shrank from showing
his fury before the young millers of Guerin, lest they
should make sport of him for his jealousy, which
was unreasonable after his long neglect and con-
tempt of his wife.
He would have stayed to wait for his return, but he
thought it too wearisome to stay all day at home,
and he knew that the quarrel which he wished to
104
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
pick with his wife could not last long enough to
occupy him till evening. It is impossible to be
angry very long when the ill-temper is all on one
side.
In spite of this, however, he could have endured
all the derision and the tedium for the pleasure of
belaboring the poor waif; but as his walk had
cooled him to some degree, he reflected that this
cursed waif was no longer a child, and that if he
were old enough to think of making love, he was
also old enough to defend himself with blows, if
provoked. So he tried to gather his wits together,
drinking glass after glass in silence, revolving in his
brain what he was going to say to his wife, but did
not know how to begin.
He had said roughly, on entering, that he wished
her to listen to something; so she sat near him, as
usual sad, silent, and with a tinge of pride in her
manner,
"Madame Blanchet," said he at last, "I have a
command to give you, but if you were the woman
you pretend to be, and that you have the reputation
of being, you would not wait to be told."
There he halted as if to take breath, but the fact is
that he was almost ashamed of what he was going
105
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
to say, for virtue was written on his wife's face as
plainly as a prayer in a missal.
Madeleine would not help him to explain himself
She did not breathe a word, but waited for him to go
on, expecting him to find fault with her for some ex-
penditure, for she had no suspicion of what he was
meditating.
"You behave as if you did not understand me,
Madame Blanchet," continued the miller, "and yet
my meaning is clear. You must throw that rubbish
out of doors, the sooner the better, for I have had
enough and too much of all this sort of thing."
" Throw what? " asked Madeleine, in amazement.
"Throw what! Then you do not dare to say
throw wbom?^^
" Good God! no; I know nothing about it," said
she. " Speak, if you want me to understand you."
" You will make me lose my temper," cried Cadet
Blanchet, bellowing like a bull. "I tell you that
waif is not wanted in my house, and if he is still
here by to-morrow morning, I shall turn him out of
doors by main force, unless he prefer to take a turn
under my mill-wheel."
"Your words are cruel, and your purpose is very
foolish, Master Blanchet," said Madeleine, who could
1 06
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
not help turning as white as her cap. "You will
ruin your business if you send the boy away; for
you will never find another who will work so well,
and be satisfied with such small wages. What has
the poor child done to make you want to drive him
away so cruelly ? "
" He makes a fool of me, I tell you, Madame Wife,
and I do not intend to be the laughing-stock of the
country. He has made himself master of my house,
and deserves to be paid with a cudgel for what he
has done."
It was some time before Madeleine could under-
stand what her husband meant. She had not the
slightest conception of it, and brought forward all
the reasons she could think of to appease him and
prevent his persisting in his caprice.
It was all labor lost, for he only grew the more
furious; and when he saw how grieved she was to
lose her good servant Francois, he had a fresh access
of jealousy, and spoke so brutally that his meaning
dawned on her at last, and she began to cry from
mortification, injured pride, and bitter sorrow.
This did not mend matters; Blanchet swore that
she was in love with this bundle of goods from the
asylum, that he blushed for her, and that if she did
107
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
not turn the waif out of doors without delay, he
would kill him and grind him to powder.
Thereupon she answered more haughtily than was
her wont, that he had the right to send away whom
he chose from his house, but not to wound and in-
sult his faithful wife, and that she would complain to
God and all the saints of Heaven of his cruel and
intolerable injustice. Thus, in spite of herself, she
came gradually to reproach him with his evil be-
havior, and confronted him with the plain fact that
if a man is dissatisfied with his own cap, he tries to
throw his neighbor's into the mud.
It went from bad to worse, and when Blanchet
finally perceived that he was in the wrong, anger
was his only resource. He threatened to shut Made-
leine's mouth with a blow, and would have done so,
if Jeannie had not heard the noise and come running
in between them, without understanding what the
matter was, but quite pale and discomfited by so
much wrangling. When Blanchet ordered him away,
the child cried, and his father took occasion to say
that he was ill-brought-up, a cry-baby, and a coward,
and that his mother would never be able to make
anything out of him. Then Blanchet plucked up
108
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
courage, and rose, brandishing his stick, and swear-
ing that he would kill the waif.
When Madeleine saw that he was mad with pas-
sion, she threw herself boldly in front of him, and he,
disconcerted and taken by surprise, allowed her her
way. She snatched his stick out of his hands and
threw it far off into the river, and then, standing her
ground, she said:
*' You shall not ruin yourself by obeying this
wicked impulse. Reflect that calamity is swift to
follow a man who loses his self-control, and if you
have no feeling for others, think of yourself and the
probable consequences of a single bad action. For a
long time you have been guiding your life amiss, my
husband, and now you are hastening faster and faster
along a dangerous road. I shall prevent you, at least
for to-day, from committing a worse crime, which
would bring its punishment both in this world and
the next. You shall not kill; return to where you
came from, rather than persevere in trying to revenge
yourself for an affront which was not offered. Go
away; I command you to do so in your own interest,
and this is the first time in my life that I have ever
commanded you to do anything. You will obey
me, because you will see that I still observe the def-
109
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
erence I owe you. I swear to you on my word and
honor that the waif shall not be here to-morrow, and
that you may come back without any fear of meet-
ing him."
Having said this, Madeleine opened the door of the
house for her husband, and Cadet Blanchet, baffled
by the novelty of her manner, and pleased in the
main to receive her submission without danger to his
person, clapped his hat upon his head, and without
another word, returned to Severe. He did not fail
to boast to her and to others that he had adminis-
tered a sound thrashing to his wife and to the waif;
but as this was not true, Severe's pleasure evaporated
in smoke.
When Madeleine Blanchet was alone again, she
sent Jeannie to drive the sheep and the goat to
pasture, and went off to a little lonely nook beside
the mill-dam, where the earth was much eaten away
by the force of the current, and the place so crowded
with a fresh growth of branches above the old tree-
stumps that you could not see two steps away from
you. She was in the habit of going there to pray,
for nobody could interrupt her, and she could be as
entirely concealed behind the tall weeds as a water-
hen in its nest of green leaves.
I 10
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
As soon as she reached there, she sank on her knees
to seek in prayer the relief she so needed. But though
she hoped this would bring great comfort, she could
think of nothing but the poor waif, who was to be
sent away, and who loved her so that he would die
of grief. So nothing came to her lips, except that
she was most unhappy to lose her only support and
separate herself from the child of her heart. Then
she cried so long and so bitterly that she was suffo-
cated, and, falling full length along the grass, lay
unconscious for more than an hour, and it is a
miracle that she ever came to herself.
At nightfall she made an effort to collect her
powers ; and when she heard Jeannie come home
singing with the flock, she rose with difficulty and
set about preparing supper. Shortly afterward, she
heard the noise of the return of the oxen, who were
drawing home the oak-tree that Blanchet had bought,
and Jeannie ran joyfully to meet his friend Francois,
whose presence he had missed all day. Poor little
Jeannie had been grieved for a moment by his
father's cruel behaviour to his dear mother, and he
had run off to cry in the fields, without knowing
what the quarrel could be. But a child's sorrow
lasts no longer than the dew of the morning, and he
1 1 1
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
had already forgotten his trouble. He took Francois
by the hand, and skipping as gaily as a little par-
tridge, brought him to Madeleine.
There was no need for the waif to look twice
to see that her eyes were reddened and her face
blanched.
'' Good God," thought he, " some misfortune has
happened." Then he turned pale too, and trembled,
fixing his eyes on Madeleine, and expecting her to
speak to him. She made him sit down, and set hi?
meal before him in silence, but he could not swallow
a mouthful. Jeannie eat and prattled on by himself; he
felt no uneasiness, for his mother kissed him from time
to time and encouraged him to make a good supper.
When he had gone to bed, and the servant was
putting the room in order, Madeleine went out, and
beckoned Francois to follow her. She walked through
the meadow as far as the fountain, and then calling
all her courage to her aid, she said:
"My child, misfortune has fallen upon you and
me, and God strikes us both a heavy blow. You see
how much I suffer, and out of love for me, try to
strengthen your own heart, for if you do not uphold
me, I cannot tell what will become of me."
Francois guessed nothing, although he at once
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
supposed that the trouble came from Monsieur
Blanchet.
*' What are you saying?" said he to Madeleine,
kissing her hands as if she were his mother. "How
can you think that I shall not have courage to com-
fort and sustain you? Am not I your servant for as
long as I have to stay upon the earth? Am not I
your child, who will work for you, and is now
strong enough to keep you from want. Leave Mon-
sieur Blanchet alone, let him squander his money,
since it is his choice. I shall feed and clothe both you
and our Jeannie. If I must leave you for a time, I
shall go and hire myself out, though not far from
here, so that I can see you every day, and come and
spend Sundays with you. I am strong enough now
to work and- earn all the money you need. You are
so careful and live on so little. Now you will not
be able to deny yourself so many things for others,
and you will be the better for it. Come, Madame
Blanchet, my dear mother, calm yourself and do not
cry, or I think I shall die of grief."
When Madeleine saw that he had not understood,
and that she must tell him everything, she com-
mended her soul to God, and made up her mind to
inflict this great pain upon him.
8 113
CHAPTER X
NO, FrarKpois, my son," said she, ''that is not
it. My husband is not yet ruined, as far
as I know anything of his affairs, and if it were only
the fear of want, you would not see me so unhappy.
Nobody need dread poverty who has courage to
work. Since you must hear why it is that I am so
sick at heart, let me tell you that Monsieur Blanchet
is in a fury against you, and will no longer endure
your presence in his house."
'* Is that it?" cried Francois, springing up. " He
may as well kill me outright, as I cannot live after
such a blow. Yes, let him put an end to me, for he
has long disliked me and longed to have me die, I
know. Let me see, where is he? I will go to him
and say, ' Tell me why you drive me away, and per-
haps I can prove to you that ycu are mistaken in
your reasons. But if you persist, say so, that —
that — ' I do not know what I am saying, Madeleine ;
114
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
truly, I do not know; I have lost my senses, and I
can no longer see clearly; my heart is pierced and
my head is turning- I am sure I shall either die or
go mad."
The poor waif threw himself on the ground,
and struck his head with his fists, as he had done
when Zabelle had tried to take him back to the
asylum.
When Madeleine saw this, her high spirit returned.
She took him by the hands and arms, and shaking
him, forced him to listen to her.
" If you have no more resignation and strength of
will than a child," said she, ''you do not deserve my
love, and you will shame me for bringing you up as
my son. Get up. You are a man in years, and a
man should not roll on the ground, as you are doing.
Listen, Francois, and tell me whether you love me
enough to go without seeing me for a time. Look,
my child, it is for my peace and good name, for
otherwise my husband will subject me to annoy-
ance and humiliation. So you must leave me to-day,
out of love, just as I have kept you, out of love, to
this day; for love shows itself in different ways ac-
cording to time and circumstance. You must leave
me without delay, because, in order to prevent Mon-
115
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
sieur Blanchet from committing a crime, I promised
that you should be gone to-morrow morning. To-
morrow is Sajnt John's day, and you must go and
find a place ; but not too near at hand, for if we
were able to see each other every day, it would be
all the worse in Monsieur Blanchet's mind."
" What has he in his mind, Madeleine? Of what
does he complain? How have 1 behaved amiss?
Does he think that you rob the house to help me?
That cannot be, because now I am one of his
household. I eat only enough to satisfy my hunger,
and I do not steal a pin from him. Perhaps he thinks
that I take my wages, and that I cost him too much.
Very well, let me follow out my purpose of going to
explain to him that since my poor mother Zabelle
died, 1 have never received a single penny ; or, if
you do not want me to tell him this, — and indeed
if he knew it, he would try to make you pay back
all the money due on my wages that you have spent
in charity — well, I will make him this proposition
for the next year. I will offer to remain in your ser-
vice for nothing. In this way he cannot think me
a burden, and will allow me to stay with you."
''No, no, no, Francois," cried Madeleine, hastily,
''\i is not possible; and if you said this to him, he
ii6
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
would fly into such a rage with you and me that
worse would come of it."
^' But why? " asked Franfois; *' what is he angry
about? Is it only for the pleasure of making us un-
happy that he pretends to mistrust me ? "
" My child, do not ask the reason of his anger for
I cannot tell you. I should be too much ashamed,
and you had better not even try to guess; but I can
assure you that your duty toward me is to go away.
You are tall and strong, and can do without me;
and you will earn your living better elsewhere, as
long as you will take nothing from me. All sons
have to leave their mothers when they go out to
work, and many go far away. You must go like the
rest, and I shall grieve as all mothers do. I shall
weep for you and think of you, and pray God morn-
ing and evening to shield you from all ill."
'' Yes, and you will take another servant who will
serve you ill, who will take no care of your son or
your property, who will perhaps hate you, if Mon-
sieur Blanchet orders him not to obey you, and will
repeat and misrepresent to him all the kind things
you do. You may be unhappy, and I shall not be
with you to protect and comfort you. Ah! you
think that I have no courage because I am miser-
.8* ,,7
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
able ? You believe that I am thinking only of my-
self, and tell me that I shall earn more money else-
where! I am not thinking of myself at all. What
is it to me whether I gain or lose ? I do not even
care to know whether I shall be able to control my
despair. I shall live or die as may please God, and it
makes no difference to me, as long as I am pre-
vented from devoting my life to you. What gives
me intolerable anguish is that I see trouble ahead for
you. You will be trampled upon in your turn, and
if Monsieur Blanchet puts me out of the way, it
is that he may the more easily walk over your
rights."
^^Even if God permits this," said Madeleine, "\
must bear what I cannot help. It is wrong to make
one's fate worse by kicking against the pricks. You
know that I am very unhappy, and you may imagine
how much more wretched I should be if I learned
that you were ill, disgusted with life, and unwilling
to be comforted. But if I can find any consolation
in my affliction, it will be because I hear that you
are well behaved, and keep up your health and cour-
age out of love for me."
This last excellent reason gave Madeleine the ad-
vantage. The waif gave in, and promised on his
ii8
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
knees, as if in the confessional, that he would do his
best to bear his sorrow bravely.
** Then," said he, as he wiped his eyes, '' if I must
go to-morrow morning, I shall say good-by to you
now, my mother Madeleine. Farewell, for this life,
perhaps; for you do not tell me if I shall ever see
you and talk with you again. If you do not think
I shall ever have such happiness, do not say so, for I
should lose courage to live. Let me keep the hope
of meeting you one day here by this clear fountain,
where I met you the first time nearly eleven years
ago. From that day to this, I have had nothing but
happiness; I must not forget all the joys that God
has given me through you, but shall keep them in
remembrance, so that they may help me to bear,
from to-morrow onward, all that time and fate may
bring. I carry away a heart pierced and benumbed
with anguish, knowing that you are unhappy, and
that in me you lose your best friend. You tell me
that your distress will be greater if I do not take
heart, so I shall sustain myself as best I may, by
thoughts of you, and I value your affection too
much to forfeit it by cowardice. Farewell, Madame
Blanchet; leave me here alone a little while; I shall
feel better when I have cried my fill. If any of my
119
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
tears fall into this fountain, you will think of me
whenever you come to wash here. I am going to
gather some of this mint to perfume my linen. I
must soon pack my bundle ; and as long as I smell
the sweet fragrance among my clothes, I shall ima-
gine that I am here and see you before me. Fare-
well, farewell, my dear mother; I shall not go back
with you to the house. I might kiss little Jeannie,
without waking him, but I have not the heart. You
must kiss him for me; and to keep him from crying,
please tell him to-morrow that I am coming back
soon. So, while he is expecting me, he will have
time to forget me a little; and then later, you must
talk to him of poor Franpois, so that he may not for-
get me too much. Give me your blessing, Made-
leine, as you gave it to me on the day of my first
communion, for it will bring with it the grace of
God."
The poor waif knelt down before Madeleine, en-
treating her to forgive him if he had ever offended
her against his will.
Madeleine declared that she had nothing to forgive
him, and that she wished her blessing could prove
as beneficent as that of God.
"Now," said Fran(;:ois, "that I am again a waif,
120
/ FRANgOIS THE WAIF
and that nobody will ever love me any more, will
not you kiss me as you once kissed me, in kindness,
• on the day of my first communion ? I shall need to
remember this, so that I may be very sure that you
still love me in your heart, like a mother."
Madeleine kissed the waif in the same pure spirit
as when he was a little child. Yet anybody who
had seen her would have fancied there was some
justification for Monsieur Blanchet's anger, and would
have blamed this faithful woman, who had no
thought of ill, and whose action could not have dis-
pleased the Virgin Mary.
''Nor me, either," put in the priest's servant.
''And me still less," returned the hemp-dresser.
Then he resumed:
She returned to the house, but not to sleep. She
heard Francois come in and do up his bundle in the
next room, and she heard him go out again at day-
break. She did not get up till he had gone some
little distance, so as not to weaken his courage, but
when she heard his steps on the little bridge, she
opened the door a crack, without allowing herself to
be seen, so that she might catch one more last
121
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
glioipse of him. She saw him stop and look back
at the river and mill, as if to bid them farewell.
Then he strode away very rapidly, after first picking
a branch of poplar and putting it in his hat, as men
do when they go out for hire, to show that they are
trying to find a place.
Master Blanchet came in toward noon, but did not
speak till his wife said:
'' You must go out and hire another boy for your
mill, for Francois has gone, and you are without a
servant."
'* That is quite enough, wife," answered Blanchet.
*M shall go, but I warn you not to expect another
young fellow."
As these were all the thanks he gave her for her
submission, her feelings were so much wounded that
she could not help showing it.
" Cadet Blanchet," said she, *^ I have obeyed your
"will; 1 have sent an excellent boy away without a
motive, and I must confess that I did so with regret.
1 do not ask for your gratitude, but, in my turn, I
have something to command you, and that is not to
insult me, for I do not deserve it."
She said this in a manner so new to Blanchet, that
it produced its effect on him.
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
''Come, wife," said he, holding out his hand to
her, 'Mfet us make a truce to all this, and think na
more about it. Perhaps I may have been a little
hasty in what I said; but you see I had my own
reasons for not trusting the waif. The devil is the
father of all those children, and he is always after
them. They may be good in some ways, but they
are sure to be scamps in others. I know that it will
be hard for me to find another such hard worker for
a servant; but the devil, who is a good father, had
whispered wantonness into that boy's ear, and I
know one woman who had a complaint against
him."
''That woman is not your wife," rejoined Made-
leine, " and she may be lying. Even if she told the
truth, that would be no cause for suspecting me."
" Do I suspect you?" said Blanchet, shrugging his
shoulders. "My grudge was only against him, and
now that he has gone, I have forgotten about it. If I
said anything displeasing to you, you must take it
in jest."
"Such jests are not to my taste," answered Made-^
leine. " Keep them for those who like them."
123
CHAPTER XI
MADELEINE bore her sorrow very well at first.
She heard from her new servant, who had met
with Fran(pois, that he had been hired for eighteen pis-
toles a year by a farmer, who had a good mill and
some land over toward Aigurande. She was happy
to know that he had found a good place, and did her
utmost to return to her occupations, without griev-
ing too much. In spite of her efforts, however, she
fell ill for a long time of a low fever, and pined quietly
away, without anybody's noticing it. Francois was
right when he said that in him she lost her best friend.
She was sad and lonely, and, having nobody to talk
with, she petted all the more her son Jeannie, who
was a very nice boy, as gentle as a lamb.
But he was too young to understand all that she
had to say of Francois, and, besides, he showed her
no such kind cares and attentions as the waif had
done at his age. Jeannie loved his mother, more even
124
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
than children ordinarily do, because she was such a
mother as is hard to find; but he never felt the same
wonder and emotion about her as Francois did. He
thought it quite natural to be so tenderly loved and
caressed. He received it as his portion, and counted
on it as his due, whereas the waif had never been
unmindful of the slightest kindness from her, and
made his gratitude so apparent in his behavior, his
words and looks, his blushes and tears, that when
Madeleine was with him she forgot that her home
was bereft of peace, love, and comfort.
When she was left again forlorn, all this evil re-
turned upon her, and she meditated long on the i
sorrows which Francois's affectionate companionship
had kept in abeyance. Now she had nobody to read
with her, to help her in caring for the poor, to pray
with her, or even now and then to exchange a few
frank, good-natured jests with her. Nothing that she
saw or did gave her any more pleasure, and her
thoughts wandered back to the time when she had
with her such a kind, gentle, and loving friend.
Whether she went into her vineyard, into her or-
chard, or into the mill, there was not a spot as large
as a pocket-handkerchief, that she had not passed
over ten thousand times, with this child clinging to
125
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
her skirts, or this faithful, zealous friend at her side.
It was as if she had lost a son of great worth and
promise; and it was in vain she heaped her affection
on the one who still remained, for half her heart was
left untenanted.
Her husband saw that she was wearing away, and
felt some pity for her languid, melancholy looks. He
feared lest she might fall seriously ill, and was loath
to lose her, as she was a skilful manager, and saved
on her side as much as he wasted on his. As Severe
would not allow him to attend to his mill, he knew
that his business would go to pieces if Madeleine no
longer had the charge of it, and though he continued
to upbraid her from habit, and complained of her
lack of care, he knew that nobody else would serve
him better.
He exerted himself to contrive some means of cur-
ing her of her sickness and sorrow, and just at this
juncture it happened that his uncle died. His
youngest sister had been under this uncle's guar-
dianship, and now she fell into his own care. He
thought, at first, of sending the girl to live with
Severe, but his other relations made him ashamed of
this project ; and, besides, when Severe found that
the girl was only just fifteen, and promised to be as
126
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
fair as the day, she had no further desire to be in-
trusted with such a charge, and told Blanchet that
she was afraid of the risks attendant on the care of
a young girl.
So Blanchet — who saw that he should gain some-
thing by being his sister's guardian, as the uncle,
who had brought her up, had left her money in his
will; and who was unwilling to place her with any
of his other relations — brought her home to his mill,
and requested his wife to treat her as a sister and
companion, to teach her to work, and let her share
in the household labors, and yet to make the task so
easy that she should have no desire to go elsewhere.
Madeleine acquiesced gladly in this family arrange-
ment. She liked Mariette Blanchet from the first for
the sake of her beauty, the very cause for which
Severe had disliked her. She believed, too, that a
sweet disposition and a good heart always go with
a pretty face, and she received the young girl not so
much as a sister as a daughter, who might perhaps
take the place of poor Franpois.
During all this time poor Francois bore his trouble
with as much patience as he had, and this was none
at all; for never was man nor boy visited with so
heavy an affliction. He fell ill, in the first place, and
127
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
^ this was almost fortunate for him, for it proved the
kindness of his master's family, who would not
allow him to be sent to the hospital, but kept him
at home, and tended him carefully. The miller, his
present master, was most unlike Cadet Blanchet, and
his daughter, who was about thirty years old, and
not yet married, had a reputation for her charities
and good conduct.
These good people plainly saw, too, in spite of the
waifs illness, that they had found a treasure in him.
He was so strong and well-built that he threw
off his disease more quickly than most people, and
though he set to work before he was cured, he had
no relapse. His conscience spurred him on to make
up for lost time and repay his master and mistress for
their kindness. He still felt ill for more than two
months, and every morning, when he began his
work, he was as giddy as if he had just fallen from
the roof of a house, but little by little he warmed
up to it, and never told the trouble it cost him to
begin. The miller and his daughter were so well
pleased with him that they intrusted him with the
management of many things which were far above
his position. When they found that he could read
and write, they made him keep the accounts, which
128
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
had never been kept before, and the need of which
had often involved the mill in difficulties. In short,
he was as well off as was compatible with his mis-
fortune; and as he had the prudence to refrain from
saying that he was a foundling, nobody reproached
him with his origin.
But neither the kind treatment he received, nor his
work, nor his illness, could make him forget Made-
leine, his dear mill at Cormouer, his little Jeannie,
and the graveyard where Zabelle was lying. His
heart was always far away, and on Sundays he
did nothing but brood, and so had no rest from the
labors of the week. He was at such a distance from
his home, which was more than six leagues off, that
no news from it ever reached him. He thought at
first that he would become used to this, but he was
consumed with anxiety, and tried to invent means
of finding out about Madeleine, at least twice a
year. He went to the fairs for the purpose of meet-
ing some acquaintance from the old place, and if he
saw one, he made inquiries about all his friends, be-
ginning prudently with those for whom he cared
least, and leading up to Madeleine, who interested
him most; and thus he had some tidings of her and
her family.
9 129
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
'^ But it is growing late, my friends, and I am
going to sleep in the middle of my story. I shall go
on with it to-morrow, if you care to hear it. Good
night, all."
The hemp-dresser went off to bed, and the farmer
lit his lantern and took Mother Monique back to the
parsonage, for she was an old woman, and could not
see her way clearly.
130
T
CHAPTER XII
HE next evening we all met again at the
farm, and the hemp-dresser resumed his story :
Franpois had been living about three years in the
country of Aigurande, near Villechiron, in a hand-
some mill which is called Haut-Champault, or Bas-
Champault, or Frechampault, for Champault is as
common a name in that country as in our own. I
have been twice into those parts, and know what a
fine country it is. The peasants there are richer, and
better lodged and fed; there is more business there,
and though the earth is less fertile, it is more pro-
ductive. The land is more broken ; it is pierced by
rocks and washed by torrents, but it is fair and pleas-
ant to the eye. The trees are marvelously beautiful,
and two streams, clear as crystal, rush noisily along
through their deep-cut channels.
The mills there are more considerable than ours,
131
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
and the one where Francois lived was among the
richest and best. One winter day, his master, by
name Jean Vertaud, said to him:
" Francois, my servant and friend, I have some-
thing to ^say to you, and I ask for your attention.
** You and I have known each other for some
little time. I have done very well in my business,
and my mill has prospered; I have succeeded better
than others of my trade; in short, my fortune has in-
creased, and I do not conceal from myself that I owe
it all to you. You have served me not as a servant,
but as a friend and relation. You have devoted
yourself to my interests as if they were your own.
You have managed my property better than I knew
how to do myself, and have shown yourself pos-
sessed of more knowledge and intelligence than I.
I am not suspicious by nature, and I should have
been often cheated if you had not kept watch of all
the people and things about me. Those who were
in the habit of abusing my good nature, complained,
and you bore the brunt boldly, though more than
once you exposed yourself to dangers, which you
escaped only by your courage and gentleness. What
1 like most about you is that your heart is as good
as your head and hand. You love order^ but not
»32
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
avarice. You do not allow yourself to be duped, as
I do, and yet you are as fond of helping your neigh-
bor as I can be. You were the first to advise me to
be generous in real cases of need, but you were
quick to hold me back from giving to those who
were merely making a pretense of distress. You
have sense and originality. The ideas you put into
practice are always successful, and whatever you
touch turns to good account.
'M am well pleased with you, and I should like,
on my part, to do something for you. Tell me
frankly what you want, for I shall refuse you
nothing."
'M do not know why you say this," answered
Francois. '* You must think, Master Vertaud, that I
am dissatisfied with you, but it is not so. You may
be sure of that."
'M do not say that you are dissatisfied, but you
do not generally look like a happy man. Your
spirits are not good. You never laugh and jest, nor
take any amusement. You are as sober as if you
were in mourning for somebody."
*^Do you blame me for this, master? I shall
never be able to please you in this respect, for I am
fond neither of the bottle nor of the dance; I go
9* 133
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
neither to the tavern nor to balls; I know no funny
stories nor nonsense. I care for nothing which
might distract me from my duty."
'' You deserve to be held in high esteem for this,
my boy, and I am not going to blame you for it. I
mention it, because I believe that there is something
on your mind. Perhaps you think that you are tak-
ing a great deal of trouble on behalf of other people,
and are but poorly paid for it."
' ^ You are wrong in thinking so, Master Vertaud.
My reward is as great as I could wish, and perhaps I
could never have found elsewhere the high wages
which you are willing to allow me, of your own free
will, and without any urging from me. You have
increased them, too, every year, and, on Saint John's
day last, you fixed them at a hundred crowns, which
is a very large price for you to pay. If you suffer
any inconvenience from it, I assure you that I should
gladly relinquish it."
134
CHAPTER XIII
*' /^^OME, come, Franfois, we do not understand
V^ each other," returned Master Jean Vertaud;
'* and I do not know how to take you. You are no
fool, and I think my hints have been broad enough;
but you are so shy that I will help you out still
further. Are not you in love with some girl about
here?"
'' No, master," was the waifs honest answer.
''Truly?"
'' I give you my word."
'' Don't you know one who might please you, if
you were able to pay your court to her ? "
" I have no desire to marry."
''What an idea! You are too young to answer
for that. What 's your reason ? "
"My reason? Do you really care to know,
master?"
" Yes, because I feel an interest in you."
^}5
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
'' Then I will tell you; there is no occasion for me
to hide it: I have never known father or mother.
And there is something I have never told you; I was
not obliged to do so; but if you had asked me, I
should have told you the truth: I am a waif; I
come from the foundling asylum."
'Ms it possible?" exclaimed Jean Vertaud, some-
what taken aback by this confession. " I should
never have thought it."
" Why should you never have thought it? You do
not answer, Master Vertaud. Very well, I shall an-
swer for you. You saw that I was a good fellow,
and you could not believe that a waif could be like
that. It is true, then, that nobody has confidence in
waifs, and that there is a prejudice against them. It
is not just or humane; but since such a prejudice
exists, everybody must conform to it, and the best
people are not exempt, since you yourself — "
" No, no," said Master Vertaud, with a revulsion
of feeling, for he was a just man, and always ready
to abjure a false notion; " I do not wish to fail in
justice, and if I forgot myself for a moment, you
must forgive me, for that is all past now. So, you
think you cannot marry, because you were born a
waif? "
136
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
''Not at all, master; I do not consider that an ob-
stacle. There are all sorts of women, and some of
them are so kind-hearted that my misfortune might
prove an inducement."
" That is true," cried Jean Vertaud. " Women are
better than we are. Yet," he continued, with a
laugh, '' a fine handsome fellow like you, in the
flower of youth, and without any defect of body or
mind, might very well add a zest to the pleasure of
being charitable. But come, give me your reason."
'' Listen," said Francois. 'M was taken from the
asylum and nursed by a woman whom I never
knew. At her death I was intrusted to another
woman, who received me for the sake of the slen-
der pittance granted by the government to those of
my kind ; but she was good to me, and when I was
so unfortunate as to lose her, I should never have
been comforted but for the help of another woman,
who was the best of the three, and whom I still love
so much, that I am unwilling to live for any other
woman but her. I have left her, and perhaps I may
never see her again, for she is well off, and may
never have need of me. Still, her husband has had
many secret expenses, and I have heard that he has
been ill since autumn, so it may be that he will die
'37
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
before long, and leave her with more debts than
property. If this happened, master, I do not deny
that I should return to the place she lives in, and
that my only care and desire would be to assist her
and her son, and keep them from poverty by my toil.
That is my reason for not undertaking any engage-
ment which would bind me elsewhere. You employ
me by the year, but if I married, I should be tied for
life. I should be assuming too many duties at once.
If I had a wife and children, it is not to be supposed
that I could earn enough bread for two families;
neither is it to be supposed, if, by extraordinary luck,
I found a wife with some money of her own, that I
should have the right to deprive my house of its
comforts, to bestow them upon another's. Thus I
expect to remain a bachelor. I am young, and have
time enough before me; but if some fancy for a girl
should enter my head, I should try to get rid of it;
because, do you see, there is but one woman in the
world for me, and that is my mother Madeleine, who
never despised me for being a waif, but brought me
up as her own child."
" Is that it? " answered Jean Vert^ud. '' My dear
fellow, what you tell me only increases my esteem
for you. Nothing is so ugly as ingratitude, and
.38
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
nothing so beautiful as the memory of benefits re-
ceived. 1 may have some good reasons for showing
you that you could marry a young woman of the
same mind as yourself, who would join you in aid-
ing your old friend, but they are reasons which I
must think over, and I must ask somebody else's
opinion."
No great cleverness was necessary to guess that
Jean Vertaud, with his honest heart and sound judg-
ment, had conceived of a marriage between his
daughter and Francois. His daughter was comely,
and though she was somewhat older than Francois,
she had money enough to make up the difference.
She was an only child, and a fine match, but up to
this time, to her father's great vexation, she had
refused to marry. He had observed lately that she
thought a great deal of Francois, and had questioned
her about him, but as she was a very reserved per-
son, he had some difficulty in extorting any con-
fession from her. Finally, without giving a positive
answer, she consented to allow her father to sound
Franfois on the subject of marriage, and awaited
the result with more uneasiness than she cared to
show.
Jean Vertaud was disappointed that he had not a
^39
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
more satisfactory answer to carry to her; first, be-
cause he was so anxious to have her married, and
next, because he could not wish for a better son-in-
law than Francois. Besides the affection he felt for
him, he saw clearly that the poor boy who had
come to him was worth his weight in gold, on ac-
count of his intelligence, his quickness at his work,
and his good conduct.
The young woman was a little pained to hear that
Franfois was a foundling. She was a trifle proud,
but she made up her mind quickly, and her liking
became more pronounced when she learned that
Francois was backward in love. Women go by con-
traries, and if Fran9ois had schemed to obtain indul-
gence for the irregularity of his birth, he could have
contrived no more artful device that that of showing
a distaste toward marriage.
So it happened that Jean Vertaud's daughter de-
cided in Francois's favor, that day, for the first time.
^' Is that all? " said she to her father. '' Does n't
he think that we should have both the desire and
the means to aid an old woman and find a situation
for her son? He cannot have understood your hints,
father, for if he knew it was a question of entering
our family, he would have felt no such anxiety."
140
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
That evening, when they were at work, Jean-
nette_yert^ud said to Francois :
" I have always had a high opinion of you, Fran-
cois ; but it is still higher now that my father has
told me of your affection for the woman who
brought you up, and for whom you wish to work
all your life. It is right for you to feel so. I should
like to know the woman, so that I might serve her
in case of need, because you have always been so
fond of her. She must be a fine woman."
^'Oh! yes," said Francois, who was pleased to
talk of Madeleine, '' she is a woman with a good
heart, a woman with a heart like yours."
Jeannette Vertaud was delighted at this, and, think-
ing herself sure of what she wanted, went on :
" If she should turn out as unfortunate as you fear,
I wish she could come and live with us. I should
help you take care of her, for I suppose that she is
no longer young. Is not she infirm? "
"Infirm? No," said Francois; "she is not old
enough to be infirm."
"Then is she still young?" asked Jeannette Ver-
taud, beginning to prick up her ears.
"Oh ! no, she is not young," answered Francois,
simply. " I do not remember how old she is now.
141
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
She was a mother to me, and I never thought of
her age."
''Was she attractive?" asked Jeannette, after hesi-
tating a moment before putting the question.
" Attractive ? " said Francois, with some surprise ;
"do you mean to ask if she is a pretty woman?
She is pretty enough for me just as she is ; but to
tell the truth, I never thought of that. What differ-
ence can it make in my affection for her ? She might
be as ugly as the devil, without my finding it out."
" But cannot you tell me about how old she is?"
"Wait a minute. Her son was five years younger
than I. Well ! She is not old, but she is not very
young; she is about like — "
"Like me?" said Jeannette, making a slight effort,
to laugh. "In that case, if she becomes a widow, it
will be too late for her to marry again, will it not ? "
"That depends on circumstances," replied Fran^
pois. " If her husband has not wasted all the prop-
erty, she would have plenty of suitors. There are-
fellows, who would marry their great-aunts as will-
ingly as their great-nieces, for money."
" Then you have no esteem for those who marry
for money ? "
" I could not do it," answered Franpois. 'i
142 ^l
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Simple-hearted as the waif was, he was no such
simpleton as not to understand the insinuations
which had been made him, and he did not speak
without meaning. But Jeannette would not take
the hint, and fell still deeper in love with him. She
had had many admirers, without paying attention to
any of them, and now the only one who pleased
her, turned his back on her. Such is the logical
temper of a woman's mind.
Francois observed during the following days that
she had something on her mind, for she ate scarcely
anything, and her eyes were always fixed on him,
whenever she thought he was not looking. Her at-
tachment pained him. He respected this good wo-
man, and saw that the more indifferent he appeared,
'the more she cared about him ; but he had no fancy
for her, and if he had tried to cultivate such a feeling,
•it would have been the result of duty and principle
irather than of spontaneous affection.
He reflected that he could not stay much longer
with Jean Vertaud, because he knew that, sooner or
later, such a condition of affairs must necessarily give
irise to some unfortunate difference.
Just at this time, however, an incident befell which
changed the current of his thoughts.
»43
\
CHAPTER XIV
ONE morning the parish priest of Aigurande
came strolling" over to Jean Vertaud's mill,
and wandered round the place for some time before
espying Francois, whom he found at last in a corner
of the garden. He assumed a very confidential air,
and asked him if he were indeed Francois, surnamed
Strawberry, a name that had been given him in the
civil register — where he had been inscribed as a
foundling — on account of a certain mark on his left
arm. The priest then inquired concerning his exact
age, the name of the woman who had nursed him,
the places in which he had lived ; in short, all that
he knew of his birth and life.
Francois produced his papers, and the priest seemed
to be entirely satisfied.
''Very well," said he, ''you may come this
evening or to-morrow morning to the parsonage ;
but you must not let anybody know what I am
144
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
going to tell you, for I am forbidden to make
it public, and it is a matter of conscience with
me."
When Francois went to the parsonage, the priest
carefully shut the doors of the room, and drawing
four little bits of thin paper from his desk, said :
t ''Francois Strawberry, there are four thousand
I francs that your mother sends you. I am forbidden
jto tell you her name, where she lives, or whether
[she is alive or dead at the present moment. A pious
thought has induced her to remember you, and it
appears that she always intended to do so, since she
knew where you were to be found, although you
lived at such a distance. She knew that your char-
acter was good, and gives you enough to establish
yourself with in life, on condition that for six months
you never mention this gift, unless it be to the wo-
man you want to marry. She enjoins me to consult
with you on the investment or the safe deposit of
this money, and begs me to lend my name, in case
it is necessary, in order to keep the affair secret. I
shall do as you like in this respect ; but I am ordered
to deliver you the money, only in exchange for your
word of honor that you will neither say nor do any-
thing that might divulge the secret. I know that I
lo 145
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
may count upon your good faith ; will you pledge
it to me?"
Francois gave his oath and left the money in the
priest's charge, begging him to lay it out to the best
advantage, for he knew this priest to be a good
man; and some priests are like some women, either
all good or all bad.
The waif returned home rather sad than glad. He
thought of his mother, and would have been glad to
give up the four thousand francs for the privilege of
seeing and embracing her. He imagined, too, that
perhaps she had just died, and that her gift was the
result of one of those impulses which come to people
at the point of death; and it made him still more mel-
ancholy to be unable to bear mourning for her and
have masses said for her soul. Whether she were dead
or alive, he prayed God to forgive her for forsaking
her child, as her child forgave her with his whole heart,
and prayed to be forgiven his sins in like manner.
He tried to appear the same as usual ; but for more
than a fortnight, he was so absorbed in a reverie at
meal-times that the attention of the Vertauds was
excited.
" That young man does not confide in us," ob-
served the miller. " He must be in love."
1^6
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
** Perhaps it is with me," thought the daughter,
** and he is too modest to confess it. He is afraid
that I shall think him more attracted by my money
than my person, so he is trying to prevent our guess-
ing what is on his mind."
Thereupon, she set to work to cure him of his shy-
ness, and encouraged him so frankly and sweetly in
her words and looks, that he was a little touched in
spite of his preoccupation.
Occasionally, he said to himself that he was rich
enough to help Madeleine in case of need, and that
he could well afford to marry a girl who laid no
claim to his fortune. He was not in love with any
woman, but he saw Jeannette Vertaud's good quali-
ties, and was afraid of being hard-hearted if he did
not respond to her advances. At times he pitied her,
and was almost ready to console her.
But all at once, on a journey which he made to
Oevant on his master's business, he met a forester
from Presles, who told him of Cadet Blanchet's death,
adding that he had left his affairs in great disorder,
And that nobody knew whether his widow would be
able to right them.
Francois had no cause to love or regret Master
Blanchet, yet his heart was so tender that when he
M7
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
heard the news his eyes were moist and his head
heavy, as if he were about to weep; he knew that
Madeleine was weeping for her husband at that very
moment, that she forgave him everything, and re-
membered only that he was the father of her child.
The thought of Madeleine's grief awoke his own,
and obliged him to weep with her over the sorrow
which he was sure was hers.
His first impulse was to leap upon his horse and
hasten to her side ; but he reflected that it was his
duty to ask permission of his master.
148
CHAPTER XV
MASTER," said he to Jean Vertaud, *' I must
leave you for a time; how long 1 cannot
tell. I have something to attend to near my old
home, and I request you to let me go with a good
will ; for, to tell the tf uth, if you refuse to give your
permission, I shall not be able to obey you, but shall
go in spite of you. Forgive me for stating the case
plainly. I should be very sorry to vex you, and that
is why I ask you as a reward for all the services that
I may have been able to render you, not to take my
behavior amiss, but to forgive the offense of which I
am guilty, in leaving your work so suddenly. I may
return at the end of a week, if I am not needed in
the place where I am going; but I may not come
back till late in the year, or not at all, for I am un-
willing to deceive you. However, I shall do my best
to come to your assistance if you need me, or if any-
thing were to occur which you cannot manage with-
149
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
out me. Before I go, I shall find you a good work-
man to take my place, and, if necessary, offer him as an
inducement all that is due on my wages since Saint
John's day last. Thus I can arrange matters without
loss to you, and you must shake hands to wish me
good luck, and to ease my mind of some of the regret
I feel at parting with you."
Jean Vertaud knew that the waif seldom asked for
anything, but that when he did, his will was so firm
that neither God nor the devil could bend it.
^' Do as you please, my boy," said he, shaking
hands with him. " I should not tell the truth if I
said I did not care; but rather than have a quarrel
with you, I should consent to anything."
Francois spent the next day in looking up a ser-
vant to take his place in the mill, and he met with a
zealous, upright man who was returning from the
army, and was happy to find work and good wages
under a good master; for Jean Vertaud was recog-
nized as such, and was known never to have wronged
anybody.
Before setting out, as he intended to do at day-
break the next day, Franpois wished to take leave
of Jeannette Vertaud at supper-time. She was sit-
ting at the barn door, saying that her head ached
150
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
and that she could not eat. He observed that she
had been weeping, and felt much troubled in mind.
He did not know how to thank her for her kindness,
and yet tell her that he was to leave her in spite of it.
He sat down beside her on the stump of an alder-
tree, which happened to be there, and struggled to
speak, without being able to think of a single word
to say. She saw all this, without looking up, and
pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. He made a
motion to take her hand in his and comfort her, but
drew back as it occurred to him that he could not
conscientiously tell her what she wanted to hear.
When poor Jeannette found that he remained silent,
she was ashamed of her own sorrow, and rising
quietly without showing any bitterness of feeling,
she went into the barn to weep unrestrained.
She lingered there a little while, in the hope that
he would make up his mind to follow her and say a
kind word, but he forbore, and went to his supper,
which he ate in melancholy silence.
It would be false to say that he had felt nothing
for Jeannette when he saw her in tears. His heart
was a little fluttered, as he reflected how happy he
might be with a person of so excellent a disposition,
who was so fond of him, and who was not person-
151
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
ally disagreeable to him. But he shook off all these
ideas when it returned to his mind that Madeleine
might stand in need of a friend, adviser, and servant,
and that when he was but a poor, forsaken child,
wasted with fever, she had endured, worked, and
braved more for him than anybody else in the
world.
'* Come," said he to himself, when he woke next
morning before the dawn ; '' you must not think of
a love-affair or your own happiness and tranquillity.
You would gladly forget that you are a waif, and
would throw your past to the winds, as so many
others do, who seize the moment as it flies, without
looking behind them. Yes, but think of Madeleine
Blanchet, who entreats you not to forget her, but to
remember what she did for you. Forward, then ;
and Jeannette, may God help you to a more gallant
lover than your humble servant."
Such were his reflections as he passed beneath the
window of his kind mistress, and if the season had
been propitious, he would have left a leaf or flower
against her casement, in token of farewell ; but it
was the day after the feast of the Epiphany ; the
ground was covered with snow, and there was not
a leaf on the trees nor a violet in the grass.
152
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
He thought of knotting into the corner of a white
handkerchief the bean which he had won the even-
ing before in the Twelfth-night cake, and of tying
the handkerchief to the bars of Jeannette's window,
to show her that he would have chosen her for his
queen, if she had deigned to appear at supper.
"A bean is a very little thing," thought he, *'but
it is a slight mark of courtesy and friendship, and
will make my excuses for not having said good-by
to her."
But a still, small voice within counseled him
against making this offering, and pointed out to him
that a man should not follow the example of those
young girls who try to make men love, remember,
and regret them, when they have not the slightest
idea of giving anything in return.
"No, no, Francois," said he, putting back his
pledge into his pocket, and hastening his step; "a
man's will must be firm, and he must allow himself
to be forgotten when he has made up his mind to
forget himself."
Thereupon, he strode rapidly away, and before he
had gone two gunshots from Jean Vertaud's mill he
fancied that he saw Madeleine's image before him,
and heard a faint little voice calling to him for help.
153
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
This dream drew him on, and he seemed to see al-
ready the great ash-tree, the fountain, the meadow
of the Blanchets, the mill-dam, the little bridge, and
Jeannie running to meet him ; and in the midst of
all this, the memory of Jeannette Vertaud was pow-
erless to hold him back an inch.
He walked so fast that he felt neither cold nor
hunger nor thirst, nor did he stop to take breath
till he left the highroad and reached the cross of
Plessys, which stands at the beginning of the path
which leads to Presles.
When there, he flung himself on his knees and
kissed the wood of the cross with the ardor of a
good Christian who meets again with a good friend.
Then he began to descend the great track, which is
like a road, except that it is as broad as a field. It
is the finest common in the world, and is blessed
with a beautiful view, fresh air, and extended hori-
zon. It slopes so, rapidly that in frosty weather a
man could go post-haste even in an ox-cart and
take an unexpected plunge in the river, which runs
silently below.
Francois mistrusted this; he took off his sabots
more than once, and reached the bridge without a
tumble. He passed by Montipouret on the left, not
154
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
without sending a loving salute to the tall old clock-
tower, which is everybody's friend; for it is the first
to greet the eyes of those who are returning home,
and shows them the right road, if they have gone
astray.
As to the roads, I have no fault to find with them
in summer-time, when they are green, smiling, and
pleasant to look upon. You may walk through
some of them with no fear of a sunstroke; but those
are the most treacherous of all, because they may
lead you to Rome, when you think you are going to
Angibault. Happily, the good clock-tower of Monti-
pouret is not chary of showing itself, and through
every clearing you may catch a glimpse of its glitter-
ing steeple, that tells you whether you are going
north or northwest.
The waif, however, needed no such beacon to
guide him. He was so familiar with all the wooded
paths and byways, all the shady lanes, all the
hunters' trails, and even the very hedge-rows along
the roads, that in the middle of the night he could
take the shortest cut, and go as straight as a pigeon
flies through the sky.
It was toward noon when he first caught sight of
the mill of Cormouer through the leafless branches,
•55
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
and he was happy to see curling up from the roof
a faint blue smoke, which assured him that the
house was not abandoned to the rats.
For greater speed he crossed the upper part of the
Blanchet meadow, and thus did not pass close by
the fountain; but as the trees and bushes were stript
of their leaves, he could still see sparkling in the
sunlight the open water, that never freezes, because
it bubbles up from a spring. The approach to the
mill, on the contrary, was icy and so slippery that
much caution was required to step safely over the
stones, and along the bank of the river. He saw
the old mill-wheel, black with age and damp,
covered with long icicles, sharp as needles, that
hung from the bars.
Many trees were missing around the house, and
the place was much changed. Cadet Blanchet's debts
had called the ax into play, and here and there were
to be seen the stumps of great alders, freshly cut, as
red as blood. The house seemed to be in bad repair;
the roof was ill-protected, and the oven had cracked
half open by the action of the frost.
What was still more melancholy was that there
was no sound to be heard of man or beast; only a
brindled black-and-white dog, a poor country mon-
156
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
grel, jumped up from the door-step and ran bark-
ing toward Franpois; then he suddenly ceased, and
came crawling up to him and lay at his feet.
" Is it you, Labriche, and do you know me?" said
Francois. 'M did not recognize you, for you are so
old and miserable; your ribs stick out, and your
whiskers are quite white."
Francois talked thus to the dog, because he was
distressed, and wanted to gain a little time before
entering the house. He had been in great haste up
to this moment, but now he was alarmed, because
he feared that he should never see Madeleine again,
that she might be absent or dead instead of her hus-
band, or that the report of the miller's death might
prove false; in short, he was a prey to all those fan-
cies which beset the mind of a man who has just
reached the goal of all his desires.
'57
CHAPTER XVI
FINALLY Francois drew the latch of the door,
and beheld, instead of Madeleine, a lovely young
girl, rosy as a May morning, and lively as a linnet.
She said to him, with an engaging manner: " What
is it you want, young man ? "
Though she was so fair to see, Francois did not
waste time in looking at her, but cast his eyes round
the room in search of Madeleine. He saw nothing
but the closed curtains of her bed, and he was sure
that she was in it. He did not wait to answer the
pretty girl, who was Mariette Blanchet, the miller's
youngest sister, but without a word walked up to
the yellow bed and pulled the curtains noiselessly
aside; there he saw Madeleine Blanchet lying asleep,
pale and wasted with fever.
He looked at her long and fixedly, without moving
or speaking; and in spite of his grief at her illness,
and his fear of her dying, he was yet happy to have
.58
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
her face before him, and to be able to say: *' I see
Madeleine."
Mariette Blanchet pushed him gently away from
the bed, drew the curtains together, and beckoned
to him to follow her to the fireside.
** Now, young man," said she, ''who are you, and
what do you want? I do not know you, and you
are a stranger in the neighborhood. Tell me how I
may oblige you."
Franpois did not listen to her, and instead of an-
swering her, he began to ask questions about how
long Madame Blanchet had been ill, whether she were
in any danger, and whether she were well cared for.
Mariette answered that Madeleine had been ill since
her husband's death, because she had overexerted
herself in nursing him, and watching at his bedside,
day and night; that they had not as yet sent for the
doctor, but that they would do so in case she was
worse; and as to her being well cared for, Mariette
declared that she knew her duty and did not spare
herself.
At these words, the waif looked the girl full in the
face, and had no need to ask her name, for besides
knowing that soon after he had left the mill, Master
Blanchet had placed his sister in his wife's charge, he
159 .
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
detected in the pretty face of this pretty girl a strik-
ing resemblance to the sinister face of the dead miller.
There are many fine and delicate faces which have
an inexplicable likeness to ugly ones ; and though
Mariette Blanchet's appearance was as charming as
that of her brother had been disagreeable, she still
had an unmistakable family look. Only the miller's
expression had been surly and irascible, while Mari-
ette's was mocking rather than resentful, and fearless
instead of threatening.
So it was that Francois was neither altogether dis-
turbed nor altogether at ease concerning the atten-
tion Madeleine might receive from this young girl.
Her cap was of fine linen, neatly folded and pinned;
her hair, which she wore somewhat after the fashion
of town-bred girls, was very lustrous, and carefully
combed and parted ; and both her hands and her
apron were very white for a sick-nurse. In short, she
was much too young, fresh, and gay to spend the
day and night in helping a person who was unable
to help herself.
Francois asked no more questions, but sat down
in the chimney-corner, determined not to leave the
place until he saw whether his dear Madeleine's ill-
ness turned for the better or worse.
160
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Marietta was astonished to see him take possession
of the fire so cavalierly, just as if he were in his own
house. He stared into the blaze, and as he seemed in
no humor for talking, she dared inquire no further
who he was and what was his business. After a
moment, Catherine, who had been the house-servant
for eighteen or twenty years, came into the room.
She paid no attention to him, but approached the bed
of her mistress, looked at her cautiously, and then
turned to the fireplace, to see after the potion which
Mariette was concocting. Her behavior showed an
intense interest for Madeleine, and Franpois, who
took in the truth of the matter in a throb, was on
the point of addressing her with a friendly greeting ;
but—
'^But," said the priest's servant, interrupting the
hemp-dresser, "you are using an unsuitable word.
A throb does not express a moment, or a minute."
*M tell you," retorted the hemp-dresser, ''that a
moment means nothing at all, and a minute is
longer than it takes for an idea to rush into the
head. I do not know how many millions of things
you can think of in a minute, whereas you only
need a throb of time to see and hear some one thing
31 i6i
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
that is happening. I will say a little throb, if you
please."
*' But a throb of time! " objected the old purist.
''Ah! A throb of time! Does that worry you,
Mother Monique? Does not everything go by
throbs? Does not the sun, when you see it rising
in the clouds of flames, and it makes your eyes blink
to look at it? And the blood that beats in your
veins; the church clock that sifts your time particle
by particle, as a bolting-machine does the grain;
your rosary when you tell it; your heart when the
priest is delayed in coming home; the rain falling drop
by drop, and the earth that turns round, as they say^
like a mill-wheel ? Neither you nor I feel the motion,
the machine is too well oiled for that ; but there
must be some throbbing about it, since it accom-
plishes its period in twenty-four hours. As to that,
too, we use the word period when we speak of a
certain length of time. So I say a throb, and I shall
not unsay it. Do not interrupt me any more, unless
you wish to tell the story."
"No, no; your machine is too well oiled, too,'*
answered the old woman. ''Now let your tongue
throb a little longer."
162
CHAPTER XVII
1WAS saying that Fran9ois was tempted to speak
to big old Catherine, and make himself known
to her; but as in the same throb of time he was on
the point of crying, he did not wish to behave like a
fool, and did not even raise his head. As Catherine
stooped over the ashes, she caught sight of his long
legs and drew back in alarm.
*^ What is all that? " whispered she to Mariette in
the other corner of the room. ''Where does that
man come from ? "
" Do you ask me? " said the girl; *' how should I
know? I never saw him before. He came in here,
as if he were at an inn, without a good-morning or
good-evening. He asked after the health of my
sister-in-law as if he were a near relation, or her
heir; and there he is sitting by the fire, as you see.
You may speak to him, for I do not care to do so.
He may be a disreputable person."
163
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
*'What? Do you think he is crazy? He does
not look wicked, as far as I can see, for he seems to
be hiding his face."
^' Suppose he has come for some bad purpose ? "
^' Do not be afraid, Mariette, for I am near to keep
him in check. If he alarms you, I shall pour a kettle
of boiling water over his legs, and throw an andiron
at his head."
While they were chattering thus, Franfois was
thinking of Madeleine.
''That poor dear woman," said he to himself,
"who has never had anything but vexation and
unkindness from her husband, is now lying ill be-
cause she nursed and helped him to the end. Here
is this young girl, who was the miller's pet sister, as
I have heard say, and her face bears no traces of
sorrow. She shows no signs of fatigue or tears, for
her eyes are as clear and bright as the sun."
He could not help looking at her from under the
brim of his hat, for never until then had he seen
such fresh and joyous beauty. Still, though his eyes
were charmed, his heart remained untouched.
" Come," continued Catherine, in a whisper to her
young mistress, " \ am going to speak to him. I
must find out his business here."
164
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
''Speak to him politely," said Mariette. ''We
must not irritate him ; we are all alone in the house,
and Jeannie may be too far away to hear our cries."
"Jeannie !" exclaimed Franfois, who caught no-
thing from all their prattle, except the name of his
old friend. "Where is Jeannie, and why don't I see
him? Has he grown tall, strong, and handsome?"
"There," thought Catherine, "he asks this be-
cause he has some evil intention. Who is the man,
for Heaven's sake ? I know neither his voice nor his
figure ; I must satisfy myself and look at his face."
She was strong as a laborer and bold as a soldier,
and would not have quailed before the devil himself,
so she stalked up to Francois, determined either to
make him take off his hat, or to knock it off herself,
so that she might see whether he were a monster or
a Christian man. She approached the waif, without
suspecting that it was he ; for being as little given
to thinking of the past as of the future, she had long
forgotten all about Francois, and, moreover, he had
improved so much and was now such a handsome
fellow that she might well have looked at him sev-
eral times before recalling him to mind ; but just as
she was about to accost him rather roughly, Made-
leine awoke, and called Catherine, saying in a faint,
"* 165
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
almost inaudible voice that she was burning with
thirst.
Francois sprang up, and would have been the first
to reach her but for the fear of exciting her too
much, which held him back. He quickly handed
the draught to Catherine, who hastened with it to
her mistress, forgetting everything for the moment
but the sick woman's condition.
Mariette, too, did her share, by raising Madeleine
in her arms, to help her drink, and this was no hard
task, for Madeleine was so thin and wasted that it
was heartbreaking to see her.
" How do you feel, sister? " asked Mariette.
** Very well, my child," answered Madeleine in the
tone of one about to die. She never complained, to
avoid distressing the others.
*' That is not Jeannie over there," she said, as she
caught sight of the waif '^Am I dreaming, my
child, or who is that tall man standing by the fire ? "
Catherine answered :
**We do not know, dear mistress; he says no-
thing, and behaves like an idiot."
The waif, at this moment, made a little motion to
go toward Madeleine, but restrained himself, for
though he was dying to speak to her, he was afraid
166
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
of taking her by surprise. Catherine now saw his
face, but he had changed so much in the past three
years that she did not recognize him, and thinking
that Madeleine was frightened, she said :
" Do not worry, dear mistress ; I was just going
to turn him out, when you called me."
'' Don't turn him out," said Madeleine, in a
stronger voice, pulling aside the curtain of her bed ;
'' I know him, and he has done right in coming to
see me. Come nearer, my son ; I have been pray-
ing God every day to permit me the grace of giving
you my blessing,"
The waif ran to her, and threw himself on his
knees beside her bed, shedding tears of joy and sor-
row that nearly suffocated him. Madeleine touched
his hands, and then his head; and said, as she kissed
him:
*' Call Jeannie; Catherine, call Jeannie, that he may
share this happiness with us. Ah! I thank God,
Francois, and I am ready to die now, if such is his
will, for both my children are grown, and I may bid
them farewell in peace."
167
CHAPTER XVIII
CATHERINE rushed off in pursuit of Jeannie, and
Mariette was so anxious to know what it all
meant, that she followed to ask questions. Francois
was left alone with Madeleine, who kissed him
again, and burst into tears; then she closed her eyes,
looking still more weak and exhausted than she had
been before. Franpois saw that she had fainted, and
knew not how to revive her; he was beside himself,
and could only hold her in his arms, calling her his
dear mother, his dearest friend, and imploring her, as
if it lay within her power, not to die so soon, with-
out hearing what he had to say.
So, by his tender words, devoted care, and fond
endearments, he restored her to consciousness, and
she began again to see and hear him. He told her
that he had guessed she needed him, that he had
left all, and had come to stay as long as she wanted
him, and that, if she would take him for her servant,
1 68
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
he would ask nothing but the pleasure of working
for her, and the solace of spending his life in her
service.
'* Do not answer," he continued; '' do not speak,
my dear mother; you are too weak, and must not
say a word. Only look at me, if you are pleased to
see me again, and I shall understand that you accept
my friendship and help."
Madeleine looked at him so serenely, and was so
much comforted by what he said, that they were
contented and happy together, notwithstanding the
misfortune of her illness.
Jeannie, who came in answer to Catherine's loud
cries, arrived to take his share of their joy. He had
grown into a handsome boy between fourteen and
fifteen, and though not strong, he was delightfully
active, and so well brought up that he was always
friendly and polite.
**0h! How glad I am to see you like this, Jean-
nie," said Francois. '' You are not very tall and
strong, but I am satisfied, because I think you will
need my help in climbing trees and crossing the river.
I see that you are delicate, though you are not ill,
is n't it so ? Well, you shall be my child, still a little
while longer, if you do not mind. Yes, yes; you
169
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
will find me necessary to you; and you will make
me carry out your wishes, just as it was long ago."
*' Yes," said Jeannie; '' my four hundred wishes, as
you used to call them."
''Oho! What a good memory you have! How
nice it was of you, Jeannie, not to forget Francois!
But have we still four hundred wishes a day ? "
"Oh, no," said Madeleine; "he has grown very
reasonable; he has no more than two hundred now."
" No more nor less ? " asked Francois.
"Just as you like," answered Jeannie; "since my
darling mother is beginning to smile again, I am
ready to agree to anything. I am even willing to
say that I wish more than five hundred times a day
to see her well again."
" That is right, Jeannie," said Francois. "See how
nicely he talks! Yes, my boy, God will grant those
five hundred wishes of yours. We shall take such
good care of your darling mother, and shall cheer
and gladden her little by little, until she forgets her
weariness."
Catherine stood at the threshold, and was most
anxious to come in, to see and speak to Francois,
but Mariette held her by the sleeve, and would not
leave off asking questions.
170
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
** What," said she, " is he a foundling? He looks
so respectable."
She was looking through the crack in the door,
which she held ajar.
**How comes it that he and Madeleine are such
friends ? "
" I tell you that she brought him up, and that he
was always a very good boy."
''She has never spoken of him to me, nor have
you."
" Oh, goodness, no! I never thought of it; he
was away; and I almost forgot him; then, I knew,
too, that my mistress had been in trouble on his
account, and I did not wish to recall it to her mind."
' ' Trouble ! What kind of trouble ? "
''Oh! because she was so fond of him; she could
not help liking him, he had such a good heart, poor
child. Your brother would not allow him in the
house, and you know your brother was not always
very gentle ! "
"We must not say that, now that he is dead,
Catherine."
" Yes, yes; you are right; I was not thinking.
Dear me, how short my memory is! And yet it is
only two weeks since he died! But let me go in,
171
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
my young lady; I want to give the boy some dinner,
for I think he must be hungry."
She shook herself loose, ran up to Francois, and
kissed him. He was so handsome that she no longer
remembered having once said that she would rather
kiss her sabot than a foundling.
''Oh, poor Francois," said she, *'how glad I am
to see you! I was afraid that you would never come
back. See, my dear mistress, how changed he is! I
wonder that you were able to recognize him at once.
If you had not told me who he was, I should not
have known him for ages. How handsome he is,
is n't he? His beard is beginning to grow; yes, you
cannot see it much, but you can feel it. It did not
prick when you went away, Fran(;:ois, but now it
pricks a little. And how strong you are, my friend!
What hands and arms and legs you have ! A work-
man like you is worth three. What wages are you
getting now ? "
Madeleine laughed softly to see Catherine so
pleased with Francois, and was overjoyed that he
was so strong and vigorous. She wished that her
Jeannie might grow up to be like him. Mariette
was ashamed to have Catherine look so boldly in a
man's face, and blushed involuntarily. But the more
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
she tried not to look at him, the more her eyes
strayed toward him; she saw that Catherine was
right ; he was certainly remarkably handsome, tall
and erect as a young oak.
Then, without stopping to think, she began to
serve him very politely, pouring out the best wine
of that year's vintage, and recalling his attention
when it wandered to Madeleine and Jeannie, and
he forgot to eat.
''You must eat more," said she; ''you scarcely
take anything. You should have more appetite
after so long a journey."
"Pay no attention to me, young lady," answered
Francois, at last; "I am too happy to be here to
care about eating and drinking. Come now,"
continued he, turning to Catherine, when the
room was put to rights, "show me round the mill
and the house, for everything looks neglected, and I
want to talk to you about it."
When they were outside, he questioned her intel-
ligently on the state of things, with the air of a man
determined to know the whole truth.
"Oh, Francois," said Catherine, bursting into
tears, "everything is going to grief, and if nobody
comes to the assistance of my poor mistress, I be-
173
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
lieve that wicked woman will turn her out of doors,
and make her spend all she owns in lawsuits."
''Do not cry," said Francois, ''for if you do, I
cannot understand what you say; try to speak more
clearly. What wicked woman do you mean ? Is it
Severe?"
"Oh! yes, to be sure. She is not content with
having ruined our master, but now lays claim to
everything he left. She is trying to prosecute us in
. fifty different ways; she says that Cadet Blanchet
; gave her promissory notes, and that even if she sold
\ everything over our heads, she would not be paid.
She sends us bailiffs every day, and the expenses are
already considerable. Our mistress has paid all she
could, in trying to pacify her, and I am very much
afraid that she will die of this worry, on top of all
the fatigue she underwent during her husband's ill-
ness. At this rate, we shall soon be without food
and fire. The servant of the mill has left us, be-
cause he was owed two years' wages, and could not
be paid. The mill has stopped running, and if this
goes on, we shall lose our customers. The horses
and crops have been attached, and are to be sold;
the trees are to be cut down. Oh, Francois, it is
ruin ! "
'74
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Her tears began to flow afresh.
''And how about you, Catherine?" asked Fran-
cois; ''are you a creditor, too? Have your wages
been paid ? "
"I, a creditor?" said Catherine, changing her wail
into a roar; "never, never! It is nobody's business
whether my wages are paid or not! "
"Good for you, Catherine; you show the right
spirit!" said Francois. "Keep on taking care of
your mistress, and do not bother about the rest. I
have earned a little money in my last place, and I
have enough with me to save the horses, the crops,
and the trees. I am going to pay a little visit to the
mill, and if I find it in disorder, I shall not need a
wheelwright to set it going again. Jeannie is as
swift as a little bird, and he must set out immedi-
ately and run all day, and then begin again to-mor-
row morning, so as to let all the customers know
that the mill is creaking like ten thousand devils,
and that the miller is waiting to grind the corn."
"Shall we send for a doctor for our mistress?"
"I have been thinking about it; but I am going
to wait and watch her all day, before making up my
mind.
" Do vou see, Catherine, I believe that doctors are
175
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
useful when the sick cannot do without them; but
if the disease is not violent, it is easier to recover
with God's help, than with their drugs: not taking
into consideration that the mere presence of a doc-
tor, which cures the rich, often kills the poor. He
cheers and amuses those who live in luxury, but he
scares and oppresses those who never see him ex-
cept in the day of danger. It seems to me that
Madame Blanchet will recover very soon, if her
affairs are straightened.
**And before we finish this conversation, Cathe-
rine, tell me one thing more; I ask the truth of you,
and you must not scruple to tell it to me. It will
go no further; I have not changed, and if you
remember me, you must know that a secret is safe
in the waifs bosom."
''Yes, yes, I know," said Catherine; ''but why
do you consider yourself a waif? Nobody will call
you any more by that name, for you do not deserve
it, Francois."
"Never mind that. I shall always be what I am,
and I am not in the habit of plaguing myself about
it. Tell me what you thirak of your young mistress,
Mariette Blanchet."
"Oh, she! She is a pretty girl. Have you al-
176
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
ready taken it into your head to marry her? She
has some money of her own ; her brother could not
touch her property, because she was a minor, and
unless you have fallen heir to an estate, Master
Francois — "
''Waifs never inherit anything," said Francois,
''and as to marrying, I have as much time to think
of it as the chestnut in the fire. What I want to
hear from you is whether this girl is better than her
brother, and whether she will prove a source of
comfort or trouble to Madeleine, if she stays on
here."
"Heaven knows," said Catherine, "for I do not.
Until now, she has been thoughtless and innocent
enough. She likes dress, caps trimmed with lace,
and dancing. She is not very selfish, but she has
been so well-treated and spoiled by Madeleine, that
she has never had occasion to show whether she
could bite or not. She has never had anything to
suffer, so we cannot tell what she may be."
" Was she very fond of her brother? "
" Not very, except when he took her to balls, and
our mistress tried to convince him that it was not
proper to take a respectable girl in Severe's company.
Then the little girl, who thought of nothing but her
177
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
own pleasure, overwhelmed her brother with atten-
tions, and turned up her nose at Madeleine, who
was obliged to yield. So Mariette does not dislike
Severe as much as I should wish to have her, but
I cannot say that she is not good-natured and nice
to her sister-in-law."
"That will do, Catherine; I ask nothing further.
Only I forbid you to tell the young girl anything of
what we have been talking about."
Francois accomplished successfully all that he had
promised Catherine. By evening, owing to Jeannie's
diligence, corn arrived to be ground, and the mill
too was in working order; the ice was broken and
melted about the wheel, the machinery was oiled,
and the woodwork repaired, wherever it was broken.
The energetic Francois worked till two in the morn-
ing, and at four he was up again. He stepped
noiselessly into Madeleine's room, and finding the
faithful Catherine on guard, he asked how the pa-
tient was. She had slept well, happy in the arrival
of her beloved servant, and in the efficient aid he
brought. Catherine refused to leave her mistress
before Mariette appeared, and Francois asked at
what hour the beauty of Cormouer was in the habit
of rising.
178
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
*'Not before daylight," said Catherine.
"What? Then you have two more hours to
wait, and you will get no sleep at all."
** I sleep a little in the daytime, in my chair, or on
the straw in the barn, while the cows are feeding."
" Very well, go to bed now," said Francois, " and
I shall wait here to show the young lady that some
people go to bed later than she, and get up earlier
in the morning. I shall busy myself with examining
the miller's papers and those which the bailiffs have
brought since his death. Where are they?"
" There, in Madeleine's chest," said Catherine.
'* I am going to light the lamp, Francois. Come,
courage, and try your best to make things straight,
as you seem to understand law-papers."
She went to bed, obeying the commands of the
waif as if he were the master of the house; for true
it is that he who has a good head and good heart
rules by his own right.
179
CHAPTER XIX
BEFORE setting to work, Francois, as soon as
he was left alone with Madeleine and Jeannie
(for the young child always slept in the room with
his mother), went to take a look at the sleeping
woman, and thought her appearance better than
when he had first arrived. He was happy to think
that she would have no need of a doctor, and that
he alone, by the comfort he brought, would preserve
her health and fortune.
He began to look over the papers, and was soon
fully acquainted with Severe's claims and the amount
of property that Madeleine still possessed with which
to satisfy them. Besides all that Severe had already
made Cadet Blanchet squander upon her, she de-
clared that she was still a creditor for two hundred
pistoles, and Madeleine had scarcely anything of her
own property left in addition to the inheritance that
Blanchet had bequeathed to Jeannie — an inheritance
1 80
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
now reduced to the mill and its immediate belong-
ings — that is, the courtyard, the meadow, the out-
buildings, the garden, the hemp-field, and a bit of
planted ground; for the broad fields and acres had
melted like snow in the hands of Cadet Blanchet.
*^ Thank God ! " thought Francois, *' I have four
hundred pistoles in the charge of the priest of Aigu-
rande, and in case I can do no better, Madeleine can
still have her house, the income of her mill, and
what remains of her dowry. But I think we can get
off more easily than that. In the first place, I must
find out whether the notes signed by Blanchet to
Severe were not extorted by strategem and undue
influence, and then I must do a stroke of business
on the lands he sold. I understand how such affairs
are managed, and knowing the names of the pur-
chasers, I will put my hand in the fire if I cannot
bring this to a successful issue."
The fact was that Blanchet, two or three years
before his death, straightened for money and over
head and ears in debt to Severe, had sold his land
at a low price to whomsoever wanted to buy, and
turned all his claims for it over to Severe, thus ex-
pecting to rid himself of her and of her comrades
who had helped her to ruin him. But, as usually
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
happens in such sales, almost all those who has-
tened to buy, attracted by the sweet fragrance of
the fertile lands, had not a penny with which to pay
for them, and only discharged the interest with great
difficulty. This state of things might last from ten
to twenty years ; it was an investment for Severe
and her friends, but a bad investment, and she com-
plained loudly of Cadet Blanchet's rashness, and
feared that she would never be paid. So she said,
at least ; but the speculation was really a reasonably
good one. The peasant, even if he has to lie on
straw, pays his interest, so unwilling is he to let go
the bit of land he holds, which his creditor may
seize if he is not satisfied.
We all know this, my good friends, and we often
try to grow rich the wrong way, by buying fine
property at a low price. However low it may be, it
is always too high for us. Our covetousness is more
capacious than our purse, and we take no end of
trouble to cultivate a field the produce of which does
not cover half the interest exacted by the seller.
When we have delved and sweated all our poor
lives, we find ourselves ruined, and the earth alone
is enriched by our pains and toil. Just as we have
doubled its value, we are obliged to sell it. If we
182
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
could sell it advantageously, we should be safe ; but
this is never possible. We have been so drained
by the interest we have had to pay, that we must
sell in haste, and for anything we can get. If we
rebel, we are forced into it by the law-courts, and
the man who first sold the land gets back his prop-
erty in the condition in which he finds it; that means
that for long years he has placed his land in our hands
at eight or ten per cent., and when he resumes pos-
session of it, it is by our labors, twice as valuable, in
consequence of a careful cultivation which has cost
him neither trouble nor expense, and also by the
lapse of time which always increases the value of
property. Thus we poor little minnows are to be
continually devoured by the big fish which pursue
us; punished always for our love of gain, and just as
foolish as we were before.
Severe's money was thus profitably invested in a
mortgage at a high interest, but at the same time
she had a firm hold of Cadet Blanchet's estate, be-
cause she had managed him so cleverly that he had
pledged himself for the purchasers of his land, and
had gone surety for their payment.
Fran<;:ois saw all this intrigue, and meditated some
possible means of buying back the land at a low
.83
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
price, without ruining anybody, and of playing a
fine trick upon Severe and her clan, by causing the
failure of their speculation.
It was no easy matter. He had enough money
to buy back almost everything at the price of the
original sale, and neither Severe nor anybody else
could refuse to be reimbursed. The buyers would
find it to their profit to sell again in all haste, in
order to escape approaching ruin ; for I tell you
all, young ana old, if you buy land on credit, you
take out a patent for beggary in your old age. It is
useless for me to tell you this, for you will have the
buying mania no whit the less. Nobody can see a
plowed furrow smoking in the sun, without being
in a fever to possess it, and it was the peasant's mad
fever to hold on to his own piece of soil that caused
Francois's uneasiness.
Do you know what the soil is, my children? Once
upon a time, everybody in our parishes was talking
about it. They said that the old nobles had attached
us to the soil to make us drudge and die, but the
Revolution had burst our bonds, and that we no
longer drew our master's cart like oxen. The truth
is that we have bound ourselves to our own acres,
and we drudge and die no less than before.
184
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
The city people tell us that our only remedy
would be to have no wants or desires. Only last
Sunday, I answered a man who was preaching this
doctrine very eloquently, that if we poor peasants
could only be sensible enough never to eat or sleep,
to work all the time, and to drink nothing but fresh
Clearwater, provided the frogs had no objection, we
might succeed in saving a goodly hoard, and in re-
ceiving a shower of compliments for our wisdom and
discretion.
Following this same train of thought, Francois
cudgeled his brains to find some means of induc-
ing the purchasers of the land to sell it back again.
He finally hit upon the plan of whispering in their
ears the little falsehood, that though Severe had the
reputation of being fabulously rich, she had really as
many debts as a sieve has holes, and that some fine
morning her creditors would lay hands upon all her
claims, as well as upon all her property. He meant
to tell them this confidentially, and when they were
thoroughly alarmed, he expected to buy back Made-
leine Blanchet's lands at the original price, with his
own money.
He scrupled, however, to tell this untruth, until it
occurred to him that he could give a small bonus to
.85
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
all the poor purchasers, to make them amends for
the interest they had already paid. In this manner
Madeleine could be restored to her rights and pos-
sessions without loss or injury to the purchasers.
The discredit in which Severe would be involved
by his plan caused him no scruple whatever. It is
right for the hen to pull out a feather from the cruel
bird that has plucked her chickens.
When Francois had reached this conclusion, Jean-
nie awoke, and arose softly, to avoid disturbing his
mother's slumbers ; then, after a good-morning to
Francois, he lost no time in going off to announce to
the rest of their customers that the mill was in good
order, and that a strong young miller stood in readi-
ness to grind the corn.
186
CHAPTER XX
IT was already broad daylight when Mariette Blan-
chet emerged from her nest, carefully attired in
her mourning, which was so very black and so very
white that she looked as spick and span as a little
magpie. The poor child had one great care, and that
was that her mourning would long prevent her going
to dances, and that all her admirers would be missing
her. Her heart was so good that she pitied them
greatly.
*' How is this? " said she, as she saw Francois ar-
ranging the papers in Madeleine's room. '* You attend
to everything here, Master Miller! You make flour,
you settle the business, you mix the medicines; soon
we shall see you sewing and spinning."
'' And you, my young lady," said Francois, who
saw that she regarded him favorably, although she
slashed him with her tongue, " I have never as yet
seen you sewing or spinning; I think we shall soon
187
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
find you sleeping till noon, and it will do you good,
and keep your cheeks rosy ! "
*'Oho ! Master Francois, you are already begin-
ning to tell me truths about myself. You had better
take care of that little game ; I can tell you some-
thing in return."
'' I await your pleasure, my young lady."
" It will soon come; do not be afraid, Master Mil-
ler. Have the kindness to tell me where Catherine
is, and why you are here watching beside our patient.
Should you like a hood and gown ? "
" Are you going to ask, in your turn, for a cap and
blouse, so that you may go to the mill ? As I see
you do no woman's work, which would be nursing
your sister for a little while, I suppose you would
like to sift out the chaff, and turn the grindstone.
At your service. Let us change clothes."
*' It looks as if you were trying to give me a les-
son."
"No ; you gave me one first, and I am only re-
turning, out of politeness, what you lent me."
' ' Good ! You like to laugh and tease, but you have
chosen the wrong time. We are not merry here,
and it is only a short time ago that we had to go to
the graveyard. If you chatter so much, you will
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
prevent my sister-in-law from getting the sleep she
needs so greatly."
" On that very account, you should not raise your
voice so much, my young lady; for I am speaking
very low, and you are not speaking, just now, as
you should in a sick-room."
" Enough, if you please, Master Francois," said
Mariette, lowering her tone, and flushing angrily.
" Be so good as to see if Catherine is at hand, and
tell me why she leaves my sister-in-law in your
charge."
" Excuse me, my young lady," said Francois, with
no sign of temper. '' She could not leave her in your
charge, because you are too fond of sleeping, so she
was obliged to intrust her to mine. I shall not call
her, because the poor woman is jaded with fatigue.
Without meaning to offend you, I must say that she
has been sitting up every night for two weeks. I sent
her off to bed, and, until noon, I mean to do her
work and mine too, for it is only right for us all to
help one another."
'* Listen, Master Francois," said the young girl,
with a sudden change of tone ; * ' you appear to hint
that I think only of myself and leave all the work to
others. Perhaps I should have sat up in my turn, if
189
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Catherine had told me that she was tired; but she
insisted that she was not at all tired, and I did not
understand that my sister was so seriously ill. You
think that I have a bad heart, but I cannot imagine
where you have learned it. You never knew me
before yesterday, and we are not, as yet, intimate
enough for you to scold me as you do. You behave
exactly as if you were the head of the family, and
yet — "
''Come, out with it, beautiful Mariette, say what
you have on the tip of your tongue. And yet I was
taken in and brought up out of charity, is not it so?
And I cannot belong to the family, because I have
no family; I have no right to it, as I am a foundling!
Is that all you wanted to say ? "
As Franpois gave Mariette this straightforward
answer, he looked at her in a way that made her
blush up to the roots of her hair, for she saw that his
expression was that of a stern and serious person,
although he appeared so serene and gentle that it
was impossible to irritate him, or to make him think
or say anything unjust.
The poor child, who was ordinarily so ready with
her tongue, was overawed for a moment, but al-
though she was a little frightened, she still felt a
190
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
desire to please this handsome fellow, who spoke so
decidedly and looked her so frankly in the eyes.
She was so confused and embarrassed, that it was
with difficulty she restrained her tears, and she
turned her face quickly the other way, to hide her
emotion.
He observed it, however, and said very kindly:
*M am not angry, Mariette, and you have no
cause to be, on your part. I think no ill of you; I
see only that you are young, that there is misfortune
in the house, and that you are thoughtless. I must
tell you what I think about it."
''What do you think about it?" asked she; ''tell
me at once, that I may know whether you are my
friend or my enemy."
"I think that you are not fond of the care and
pains people take for those whom they love, who
are in trouble. You like to have your time to your-
self, to turn everything into sport, to think about
your dress, your lovers, and your marriage by and
by, and you do not mind having others do your
share. If you have any heart, my pretty child, if
you really love your sister-in-law, and your dear
little nephew, and even the poor, faithful servant
who is capable of dying in harness like a good horse,
191
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
you must wake up a little earlier in the morning,
you must care for Madeleine, comfort Jeannie, relieve
Catherine, and, above all, shut your ears to the
enemy of the family, Madame Severe, w^ho is, I
assure you, a very bad woman. Now you know
what I think, neither more nor less."
'/ 1 am glad to hear it," said Mariette, rather dryly;
'' and now please tell me by what right you wish to
make me think as you do."
''Oh! This is the way you take it, is it?" an-
swered Francois. ''My right is the waifs right, and
to tell you the whole truth, the right of the child
who was taken in and brought up by Madame
Blanchet; for this, it is my duty to love her as my
mother, and my right to try to requite her for her
kindness."
"I have no fault to find," returned Mariette,
" and I see that I cannot do better than give you
my respect at once, and my friendship as time goes
on."
" I like that," said Francois; " shake hands with
me on it."
He strode toward her, holding out his great hand,
without the slightest awkwardness; but the little
Mariette was suddenly stung by the fly of coquetry,
192
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
and, withdrawing her hand, she announced that it
was not proper to shake hands so familiarly with a
young man.
Francois laughed and left her, seeing plainly that
she was not frank, and that her first object was to
entangle him in a flirtation.
'^Now, my pretty girl," thought he, "you are
much mistaken in me, and we shall not be friends
in the way you mean."
He went up to Madeleine, who had just waked,
and who said to him, taking both his hands in hers:
" I have slept well, my son, and God is gracious
to let me see your face first of all, on waking. How
is it that Jeannie is not with you?"
Then, after hearing his explanation, she spoke
some kind words to Mariette, telling the young girl
how sorry she was to have her sit up all night, and
assuring her that she needed no such great care.
Mariette expected Francois to say that she had risen
very late; but Francois said nothing and left her
alone with Madeleine, who had no more fever and
wanted to try to get up.
After three days, she was so much better that she
was able to talk over business affairs with Francois.
'^ You may put yourself at ease, my dear mother,"
^3 193
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
said he. "I sharpened my wits when I was away
from here, and I understand business pretty well. I
mean to see you through these straits, and I shall
succeed. Let me have my way; please do not con-
tradict anything I say, and sign all the papers I shall
bring you. Now, that my mind is at ease on the
score of your health, I am going to town to consult
some lawyers. It is market-day, and I shall find
some people there whom I want to see, and I do not
think my time will be wasted."
He did as he said; and after receiving instructions
and advice from the lawyers, he saw clearly that the
last promissory notes which Blanchet had given
Severe would be a good subject for a lawsuit ; for
he had signed them when he was beside himself
with drink, fever, and infatuation. Severe believed
that Madeleine would not dare to go to law, on ac-
count of the expense. Fran(;:ois was unwilling to
advise Madame Blanchet to embark in a lawsuit,
but he thought there was a reasonable chance of
bringing the matter to an amicable close, if he began
by putting a bold face on it ; and as he needed
somebody to carry a message into the enemy's
camp, he bethought himself of a plan which suc-
ceeded perfectly.
194
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
For several days he had watched little Mariette,
and assured himself that she took a daily walk in
the direction of Dollins, where Severe lived, and that
she was on more friendly terms with this woman
than he could wish, chiefly because she met at her
house all her young acquaintances, and some men
from town who made love to her. She did not
listen to them, for she was still an innocent girl, and
had no idea that the wolf was so near the sheep-
fold, but she loved flattery, and was as thirsty for
it as a fly for milk. She kept her walks secret from
Madeleine ; and as Madeleine never gossiped with
the other women, and had not as yet left her sick-
room, she guessed nothing, and suspected no evil.
Big Catherine was the last person in the world to
notice anything, so that the little girl cocked her cap
over her ear, and, under the pretext of driving the
sheep to pasture, she soon left them in charge of
some little shepherd-boy, and was off to play the
fine lady in poor company.
Franfois, however, who was going continually
to and fro on the affairs of the mill, took note of
what the girl was doing. He never mentioned it
at home, but turned it to account, as you shall
hear.
>95
CHAPTER XXI
HE planted himself directly in her way at the
river-crossing ; and just as she stepped on
the foot-bridge which leads to Dollins, she beheld
the waif, astride of the plank, a leg dangling on each
side above the water, and on his face the expression
of a man who has all the time in the world to
spare. She blushed *as red as a cherry, and if she
had not been taken so by surprise, she would have
swerved aside, and pretended to be passing by
accident.
But the approach to the bridge was obstructed
by branches, and she did not see the wolf till she
felt his teeth. His face was turned toward her, so
she had no means of advancing or retreating, with-
out being observed.
''Master Miller," she began, saucily, *' can't you
move a hairbreadth to let anybody pass? "
'*No, my young lady," replied Francois, ''for I
196
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
am the guardian of this bridge till evening, and I
claim the right to collect toll of everybody."
"Are you mad, Francois? Nobody pays toll in
our country, and you have no right on any bridge,
or foot-bridge, or whatever you may call it in your
country of Aigurande. You may say what you like,
but take yourself off from here, as quickly as you
can; this is not the place for jesting; you will make
me tumble into the water."
" Then," said Francois, without moving, and fold-
ing his arms in front of him, ''you think that I want
to laugh and joke with you, and that my right of
toll is that of paying you my court ? Pray get rid
of that idea, my young lady; I wish to speak sensi-
bly to you, and I will allow you to pass if you give
me permission to accompany you for a short part of
your way."
" That would not be at all proper," said Mariette,
somewhat flustered by her notion of what Francois
was thinking. ** What would they say of me here-
abouts, if anybody met me out walking alone with
a man to whom I am not betrothed ? "
''You are right," said Francois; " as Severe is not
here to protect you, people would talk of you; that
is why you are going to her house, so that you may
13* 197
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
walk about in her garden with all your admirers.
Very well, so as not to embarrass you, I shall speak
to you here, and briefly, for my business is pressing,
and this it is. You are a good girl; you love your
sister-in-law Madeleine; you see that she is in diffi-
culties, and you must want to help her out of them."
"If that is what you want to say," returned
Mariette, *' I shall listen to you, for you are speaking
the truth."
'' Very well, my dear young lady," said Francois,
rising and leaning beside her, against the bank beside
the little bridge, "you can do a great service to
Madame Blanchet. Since it is for her good and in-
terest, as I fondly believe, that you are so friendly
with Severe, you must make that woman agree to a
compromise. Severe is trying to attain two objects
which are incompatible : she wants to make Master
Blanchet's estate security for the payment of the land
he sold for the purpose of paying his debts to her;
and in the second place, she means to exact payment
of the notes which he signed in her favor. She may
go to law, if she likes, and wrangle about this poor
little estate, but she cannot succeed in getting more
out of it than there is. Make her understand that if
she does not insist upon our guaranteeing the pay-
198
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
ment of the land, we can pay her notes; but if she
does not allow us to get rid of one debt, we shall not
have funds enough to pay the other, and if she makes
us drain ourselves with expenses which bring her no
profit, she runs the risk of losing everything."
" That is true," said Mariette; ** although I under-
stand very little about business, I think I can under-
stand as much as that. If I am able, by any chance,
to influence her, which would be better: for my sis-
ter-in-law to pay the notes, or to be obliged to re-
deem the security ? "
** It would be worse for her to pay the notes, for
it would be more unjust. We could contest the notes
and go to law about them; but the law requires
money, and you know that there is none, and never
will be any, at the mill. So, it is all one to your
sister, whether her little all goes in a lawsuit or in
paying Severe ; whereas it is better for Severe to be
paid, without having a lawsuit.
"As Madeleine is sure to be ruined in either case, she
prefers to have all her possessions seized at once, than
to drag on after this under a heavy burden of debt,
which may last all her lifetime; for the purchasers of
Cadet Blanchet's land are not able to pay for it.
Severe knows this well, and will be forced, some fine
199
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
day, to take back her land; but this idea is not at all
distressing to her, as it will be a profitable specula-
tion for her to receive the land in an improved condi-
tion, having long drawn a heavy rate of interest from
it. Thus, Severe risks nothing in setting us free, and
assures the payment of her notes."
" I shall do as you say," said Mariette ; " and if I
fail, you may think as ill of me as you choose."
'' Then, good luck, Mariette, and a pleasant walk
to you," said Francois, stepping out of her way.
Little Mariette started off to Dollins, well pleased
to have such a fine excuse for going there, for staying
a long time, and for returning often during the next
few days. Severe pretended to like what she heard,
but she really determined to be in no haste. She had
always hated Madeleine Blanchet, because of the in-
voluntary respect her husband had felt for her. She
thought she held her safely in her claws for the whole
of her lifetime, and preferred to give up the notes,
which she knew to be of no great value, rather than
renounce the pleasure of harassing her with the bur-
den of an endless debt.
Francois understood all this perfectly, and was
anxious to induce her to exact the payment of this
debt, so that he might have an opportunity to buy
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
back Jeannie's broad fields from those who had pur-
chased them for a song. When Mariette returned
with her answer, he saw that they were trying to
mislead him with words; that, on one hand, the
young girl was glad to have her errands last for a
long time to come, and that, on the other hand,
Severe had not reached the point of being more de-
sirous for Madeleine's ruin than for the payment of
her notes.
To clinch matters, he took Mariette aside, two
days afterward.
" My dear young lady," said he, ''you must not
go to Dollins to-day. Your sister has learned, though
I do not know how, that you go there more than
once a day, and she says it is no place for a respect-
able girl. I have tried to make her understand that
it is for her interest that you are so friendly with
Severe ; but she blamed me as well as you. She says
that she would rather be ruined than have you lose
your reputation, that you are under her guardianship,
and that she has authority over you. If you do not
obey of your own free will, you will be prevented
from going by main force. If you do as she says,
she will not mention this to you, as she wishes to
avoid giving you pain, but she is very much dis-
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
pleased with you, and it would be well for you to
beg her pardon."
Francois had no sooner unleashed the dog than it
began to bark and bite. He was correct in his esti-
mate of little Mariette's temper, which was as hasty
and inflammable as her brother's had been,
''Indeed, indeed!" she exclaimed; "do you ex-
pect me to obey my sister-in-law, as if I were a
child of three ? You talk as if she were my mother,
and I owed her submission! What makes her think
that I may lose my reputation ? Tell her that it is
quite as well buckled on as her own, and perhaps
better. Why does she imagine that Severe is not
so good as other people ? Is it wicked not to spend
the whole day sewing, spinning, and praying ? My
sister-in-law is unjust because she has a quarrel with
her about money, and she thinks she can treat her
;as she pleases. It is very imprudent of her, for if
Severe wished she coiild turn her out of the house
-she lives in ; and as Severe is patient, and does not
make use of her advantage, she is certainly better
than she is said to be. And this is the way in
which you thank me, who have been obliging
enough to take part in these disputes, which are no
concern of mine ! I can tell you, Francois, that the
202
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
most respectable people are not always the most
prudish, and when I go to Severe's I do no more
mischief than if I stayed at home."
*' I don't know about that," said Francois, who
was determined to make all the scum of the vat
mount to the surface; ''perhaps your sister was
right in thinking that you are in some mischief
there. Look here, Mariette, I see that you like to
go there too well. It is not natural. You have de-
livered your message about Madeleine's affairs, and
since Severe has sent no answer, it is evident that
she means to give none. Do not go back there any
more, or I shall think, with Madeleine, that you go
with no good intention."
**Then, Master Francois," cried Mariette, in a
fiiry, ''you think you are going to dictate to me?
Do you mean to take my brother's place at home,
and make yourself master there? You have not
enough beard on your chin to give me such a lec-
ture, and I advise you to leave me alone. Your
humble servant," she added, adjusting her coif; " if
my sister-in-law asks where I am, tell her that I am
at Severe's, and if she sends you after me, you will
see how you are received."
She burst the door open violently, and flew off
203
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
with a light foot toward Dollins ; but as FrarKpois
was afraid that her anger would cool on the way,
especially as the weather was frosty, he allowed her
a little start. He waited until he thought she had
nearly reached Severe's house, and then putting his
long legs in motion he ran like a horse let loose, and
caught up with her, to make her believe that Made-
leine had sent him in pursuit of her.
He was so provoking that she raised her hand
against him. He dodged her every time, being well
aware that anger evaporates with blows, and that a
woman's temper improves when she has relieved
herself by striking. Then he ran away, and as
soon as Mariette arrived at Severe's house she made
a great explosion. The poor child had really no
bad designs ; but in the first flame of her anger she
disclosed everything, and put Severe into such a
towering passion that Francois, who was retreating
noiselessly through the lane, heard them at the
other end of the hemp-field, hissing and crackling
like fire in a barn full of hay.
204
CHAPTER XXII
HIS plan succeeded admirably, and he was so
sure of it that he went over to Aigurande
next day, took his money from the priest, and re-
turned at night, carrying the four little notes of thin
paper, which were of such great value, and yet
made no more noise in his pocket than a crumb of
bread in a cap. After a week's time, Severe made
herself heard. All the purchasers of Blanchet's
land were summoned to pay up, and as not one
was able to do it, Severe threatened to make Made-
leine pay instead.
Madeleine was much alarmed when she heard the
news, for she had received no hint from Francois of
what was coming.
** Good ! " said he to her, rubbing his hands; " a
trader cannot always gain, nor a thief always rob.
Madame Severe is going to make a bad bargain and
you a good one. All the same, my dear mother,
205
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
you must behave as if you thought you were ru-
ined. The sadder you are, the gladder she will be ta
do what she thinks is to your harm. But that harm»
is your salvation, for when you pay Severe you wilB
buy back your son's inheritance."
''What do you expect me to pay her with, my
child?"
"With the money I have in my pocket, and*
which belongs to you."
Madeleine tried to dissuade him; but the waif was
headstrong, as he said himself, and no one could
loose what he had bound. He hastened to deposit
two hundred pistoles with the notary, in the widow
Blanchet's name, and Severe was paid in full, will-
ingly or unwillingly, and also all the other creditors,
of the estate, who had made common cause with-,
her.
Moreover, after Francois had indemnified all the
poor purchasers of the land for their losses, he had
still enough money with which to go to law, and
he let Severe know that he was about to embark in.
a lawsuit on the subject of the promissory notes,
which she had wrongfully and fraudulently extracted,
from the miller. He set afloat a report which spread
far and wide through the land. He pretended that
206
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
in fumbling about an old wall of the mill which he
was trying to prop up, he had found old Mother
Blanchet's money-box, filled with gold coins of an
ancient stamp, and that by this means Madeleine
was richer than she had ever been. Weary of war-
fare, Severe consented to a compromise, hoping also
that Franfois would be lavish of the crowns which
he had so opportunely discovered, and that she
could wheedle from him more than he gave her to
'expect. She got nothing for her pains, however,
and he was so hard with her that she was forced to
return the notes in exchange for a hundred crowns.
To revenge herself, she worked upon little Mari-
ette, telling her that the money-box of old Mother
Blanchet, who was the girl's grandmother, should
have been divided between her and Jeannie, that
she had a right to her share, and should go to law
against her sister.
Then the waif was forced to tell the true source
■of the money he had provided, and the priest of
Aigurande sent him the proofs, in case of there
being a lawsuit.
He began by showing these proofs to Mariette,
begging her to make no unnecessary disclosures,
^nd making it clear to her that she had better keep
207
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
quiet. But Mariette would not keep at all quiet;
her little brain was excited by the confusion in the
family, and the devil tempted the poor child. In
spite of all the kindness she had received from
Madeleine, who had treated her as a daughter and
indulged all her whims, she felt a dislike and jeal-
ousy of her sister-in-law, although her pride pre-
vented her from acknowledging it. The truth is
that in the midst of her tantrums and quarrels with
Francois, she had inadvertently fallen in love with
him, and never suspected the trap which the devil'
had set for her. The more Francois upbraided her
for her faults and vagaries, the more crazy she was
to please him.
She was not the kind of girl to pine and consume
away in grief and tears ; but it robbed her of her
peace to think that Francois was so handsome, rich,
and upright, so kind to everybody, and so clever and
brave; that he was a man to shed his last drop of
blood for the woman he loved, and yet that none
of this was for her, although she was the prettiest
and richest girl in the neighborhood, and counted
her lovers by the dozen.
One day she opened her heart to her false friend.
Severe. It was in the pasture at the end of the road
208
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
of the water-lilies, underneath an old apple-tree that
was then in blossom. While all these things were
happening, the month of May had come, and Severe
strolled out under the apple-blossoms, to chat with
Mariette, who was tending her flock beside the river.
It pleased God that Francois, who was near by,
should overhear their conversation. He had seen
Severe enter the pasture, and at once suspected her
of meditating some intrigue against Madeleine; and
as the river was low, he walked noiselessly along the
bank, beneath the bushes which are so tall just
there that a hay-cart could pass under their shade.
When he came within hearing distance, he sat down
on the ground, without making a sound, and opened
his ears very wide.
The two women plied their tongues busily. In
the first place, Mariette confessed to not caring for a
single one of her suitors, for the sake of a young
miller, who was not at all courteous to her, and the
thought of whom kept her awake at night. Severe,
on the other hand, wanted to unite her to a young
man of her acquaintance, who was so much in love
with the girl, that he had promised a handsome
wedding -present to Severe, if she succeeded in
marrying him to Mariette Blanchet. It appeared
^4 209
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
also that Severe had exacted a gratuity beforehand
from him and from several others; so she naturally
did all in her power to put Mariette out of conceit
with Fran9ois.
**A plague take the waif!" she exclaimed.
"What, Mariette, a girl in your position marry a
foundling! You would be called Madame Straw-
berry, for he has no other name. 1 should be
ashamed for you, my poor darling. Then you have
no chance; you would be obliged to fight for him
with your sister-in-law, for he is her lover, as true
as I live."
''Severe," cried Mariette, ''you have hinted this
to me more than once; but I cannot believe you;
my sister-in-law is too old."
"No, no, Mariette; your sister-in-law is not old
enough to do without this sort of thing; she is only
thirty, and when the waif was but a boy, your
brother discovered that he was too familiar with his
wife. That is why he gave him a sound thrashing
with the butt of his whip, and turned him out of
doors."
Franpois felt a lively desire to spring out of the
bushes and tell Severe that she lied; but he re-
strained himself, and sat motionless.
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Severe continued to ring the changes on this sub-
ject, and told so many shocking lies that Fran(;:ois's
face burned, and it was with great difficulty that he
:kept his patience.
"Then," said Mariette, "he probably means to
tnarry her now that she is a widow; he has already
given her a good -part of his fortune, and he must
"Wish to have a share in the property which he has
bought back."
"Somebody else will outbid him," said the other;
** for now that Madeleine has plundered him, she
will be on the lookout for a richer suitor, and will
be sure to fmd one. She must take a husband to
manage her property, but while she is trying to fmd
him, she keeps this great simpleton with her, who
serves her for nothing, and amuses her solitude."
"If she is going along at that pace," said Mari-
ette, much vexed, "I am in a most disreputable
house, in which I run too many dangers ! Do you
consider, my dear Severe, that I am very ill-lodged,
and that people will talk against me ? Indeed, I can-
not stay where I am ; I must leave. Oh ! yes, these
pious women criticize everybody else, because they
themselves are shameless only in God's sight ! I
.should like to hear her say anything against you
211
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
and me now ! Very well ! I am going to say good-
by to her, and I am coming to live with you; if
she is angry, I shall answer her; if she tries to bring
me back by force, to live with her, I shall go to law;
and I shall let people know what she is — do you
hear?"
** A better remedy for you, Mariette, is to get mar-
ried as soon as possible. She will not refuse her con-
sent, because I am sure she is anxious to rid herself
of you. You stand in the way of her relations with
the handsome waif. You must not delay, cannot
you understand, for people will say that he belongs to
both of you, and then nobody will marry you. Go
and get married, then, and take the man I advise."
"Agreed," said Mariette, breaking her shepherd's
crook violently, against the old apple-tree. " I give
you my word. Go and tell him. Severe; let him
come to my house this evening, to ask for my hand,
and let our banns be published next Sunday,"
212
CHAPTER XXIII
FRANCOIS was never sadder than when he
emerged from the river-bank where he had hid-
den himself to listen to the women's talk. His heart
was as heavy as lead, and when he had gone half-
way home he lost courage to return, and, stepping
aside into the path of the water-lilies, he sat down
in the little grove of oaks, at the end of the meadow.
Once there, by himself, he wept like a child, and
his heart was bursting with sorrow and shame; for
he was ashamed to hear of what he was accused,
and to think that his poor dear friend Madeleine,
whom, through all his life, he had loved so purely
and constantly, reaped nothing but insult and slan-
der from his devotion and fidelity.
*' Oh ! my God, my God ! " said he to himself,
** how can it be that the world is so wicked and that
a woman like Severe can have the insolence to mea-
sure the honor of a woman like my dear mother, by
14* 213
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
her own standard ? And that little Mariette, who
should naturally be inclined to innocence and truth,
a child as she is, who does not as yet know the
meaning of evil, even she listens to this infernal
calumny, and believes in it, as if she knew how it
stung ! Since this is so, others will believe it too;
as the larger part of people living mortal life are old
in evil, almost everybody will think that because I
love Madame Blanchet, and she loves me, there must
be something dishonorable in it."
Then poor Francois undertook a careful examina-
tion of his conscience, and searched his memory to
see whether, by any fault of his, he were responsible
for Severe's wicked gossip ; whether he had behaved
wisely in all respects, or whether, by a lack of pru-
dence and discretion, he had involuntarily given rise
to evil thinking. But it was in vain that he reflected,
for he could not believe that he had appeared guilty
of what had never even crossed his mind.
Still absorbed in thought and reverie, he went on
saying to himself:
''Suppose that my liking had turned to loving,
what harm would it be in God's sight, now that she
is a widow and her own mistress? I have given a
good part of my fortune to her and Jeannie, but I
214
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
still have a considerable share left, and she would not
wrong her child if she married me. It would not be
self-seeking on my part to desire this, and nobody
could make her believe that my love for her is self-
interested. I am a foundling, but she does not care
for that. She has loved me with a mother's love,
which is the strongest of all affections, and now she
might love me in another way. I see that her enemies
will force me to leave her if I do not marry her, and
I should rather die than leave her a second time. Be-
sides, she needs my help, and I should be a coward to
leave her affairs in such disorder when I have strength
as well as money with which to serve her. Yes, all
I have should belong to her, and as she often talks to
me about paying me back in the end, I must put that
idea out of her head, by sharing all things in com-
mon with her, in accordance with the permission of
God and the law. She must keep her good name for
her son's sake, and she can save it only by marrying
me. How is it that I never thought of this before,
and that I needed to hear it suggested by a serpent's
tongue? I was too simple-minded and unsuspect-
ing; and my poor mother is too charitable to others
to take to heart the injuries which are done her.
Everything tends toward good, by the will of
215
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Heaven; and Madame Severe, who was plotting
mischief, has done me the service of teaching me
my duty."
Without indulging any longer in meditation or
wonder, Francois set off on his way home, deter-
mined to speak of his plan to Madame Blanchet
without loss of time, and on his knees to entreat her
to accept him as her protector, in the name of God,
and for eternal life.
When he reached Cormouer, he saw Madeleine
spinning on her doorstep, and for the first time in his
life her face had the effect of making him timid and
confused. He was in the habit of walking straight
up to her, looking her full in the face to ask her
how she did; but this time he paused on the little
bridge as if he were examining the mill-dam, and
only looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.
When she turned toward him, he moved farther
away, not understanding himself what his trouble
was, or why a matter which, a few minutes ago, had
seemed to him so natural and opportune, should sud-
denly become so awkward to confess.
Madeleine called him.
" Come here to me," said she, "for I have some-
thing to say to you, dear Francois. We are alone,
216
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
so come and sit down beside me, and open your
heart to me, as if I were your father-confessor, for I
want to hear the truth from you."
Francois was reassured by Madeleine's words, and
he sat down beside her.
" I promise, my dear mother," said he, "to open
my heart to you as I do to God, and to give you a
true confession."
He fancied that something had come to her ears
which had brought her to the same conclusion as
himself ; he was delighted, and waited to hear what
she had to say.
** Francois," she went on, "you are in your
twenty-first year, and it is time for you to think
of marrying; you are not opposed to it, I hope?"
"No, I am not opposed to anything you wish,"
answered Francois, blushing with pleasure; "go on,
my dear Madeleine."
" Good! " said she. " I expected this, and I have
guessed the right thing. Since you wish it, I wish
it too, and perhaps I thought of it before you did.
\ was waiting to see whether the person in question
cared for you, and I think that if she does not as
yet, she will, very soon. Don't you think so, too,
and shall I tell you where you stand? Why do
217
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
you look at me with such a puzzled expression?
Don't I speak clearly enough ? I see that you are
shy about it, and I must help you out. Well, the
poor child pouted all the morning because you
teased her a little yesterday, and I dare say she
thinks you do not love her. But I know that you
do love her, and if you scold her sometimes for her
little caprices it is because you are a trifle jealous.
You must not hold back for that^ Francois. She is
young and pretty; but though there is some danger
in this, if she truly loves you she will willingly sub-
mit herself to you."
"I should like," said Francois, much disappointed,
*'to know whom you are talking of, my dear
mother, for I am wholly at a loss."
"Really!" said Madeleine; ''don't you know
what I mean? Am I dreaming, or are you trying
to keep a secret from me ? "
*' A secret from you! " said Franpois, taking Made-
leine's hand. He soon dropped it, and took up in-
stead the corner of her apron, which he crumpled as
if he were provoked, then lifted toward his lips as
if about to kiss it, and finally let go just as he had
done with her hand. He was first inclined to cry;
then he felt angry, and then giddy, all in succession.
218
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Madeleine was amazed.
*' You are in trouble, my child," she cried, " and
this means that you are in love — that all does not
go as you wish. I can assure you that Mariette has
a good heart; she, too, is distressed, and if you
speak openly with her she will tell you, in return,
that she thinks of no one but you."
Francois sprang up, and walked up and down
the courtyard for some time in silence ; then he
returned to Madeleine's side.
" I am very much surprised to hear what you
have in your mind, Madame Blanchet; this never
once occurred to me, and I am well aware that
Mariette has no liking for me, and that I am not to
her taste."
'*0h, come!" said Madeleine; ''you are speaking
petulantly, my child! Don't you think I noticed
how often you talked with her? Though I could
not catch the meaning of what you said, it was
evident that she understood very well, for her face
glowed like a burning coal. Do you think I do not
know that she runs away from the pasture every
day, leaving her flock in charge of the first person
she meets? Her sheep flourish at the expense of
our wheat; but I do not want to cross her, or talk
219
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
to her of sheep, when her head is full of nothing
but love and marriage. The poor child is just of
an age to guard her sheep ill, and her heart still
worse. But it is great good luck for her, Francois,
that instead of falling in love with one of those bad
fellows whom I was so much afraid of her meeting
at Severe's, she had the good sense to think of you.
It makes me, too, very happy to think that, when
you are married to my sister-in-law, who is almost
the same as a daughter to me, you will live with
me and make part of my family, and that I may
harbor you in my house, work with you, bring up
your children, and thus repay your kindness to me.
So, do not let your childish notions interfere with
all the joys I have planned. Try to see clearly,
and forget your jealousy. If Mariette is fond of
dress, it is because she is anxious to please you. If
she has been rather idle lately, it is only because
she is thinking too much of you; and if she answers
me sometimes rather sharply, she does so because
she is vexed with your reprimands, and does not
know whom to blame for them. The proof that
she is good and desirous of mending her ways, is
that she has recognized your goodness and wisdom,
and wants you for her husband."
220
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
*' You are good, my dear mother," said FrarK^^ois,
quite crestfallen. ''Yes, it is you who are good,
for you believe in the goodness of others and de-
ceive yourself. I can tell you that, if Mariette is
good, too, and I will not say she is not, lest I should
injure her in your opinion, it is in a way very dif-
ferent from yours, and, consequently, very displeasing
to me. Do not say anything more to me about her.
I swear to you on my word and honor, on my heart
and soul, that I am no more in love with her than
I am with old Catherine, and if she has any regard
for me, it is her own misfortune, because I cannot
return it. Do not try to make her say she loves me;
your tact would be at fault, and you would make
her my enemy. It is quite the contrary; hear what
she will say to you to-night, and let her marry Jean
Aubard, whom she has made up her mind to accept.
Let her marry as soon as possible, for she is out of
place in your house. She is not happy there, and
will not be a source of comfort to you."
''Jean Aubard ! " exclaimed Madeleine; " he is not
a proper person for her; he is a fool, and she is too
clever to submit herself to a stupid man."
" He is rich, and she will not submit to him. She
will manage him, and he is just the man for her.
221
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
Will you not trust in your friend, my dear mother?
You know that, up to this time, I have never given
you any bad advice. Let the young girl go ; she
does not love you as she ought, and she does not
know your worth."
"You say this because your feelings are hurt,
Francois," said Madeleine, laying her hand on his
head and moving it gently up and down, as if she
were trying to shake the truth out of it. Francois
was exasperated that she would not believe him,
and it was the first time in his life that there had
been any dispute between them. He withdrew, say-
ing in a dissatisfied tone of voice :
"Madame Blanchet, you are not just to me. I
tell you that girl does not love you. You force me
to say this, against my will; for I did not come here
tb bring distrust and strife. So, if I tell it to you,
you may know that I am sure of it; and do you
think I can love her after that? You cannot love rne
any more, if you will not believe me."
Wild with grief, Fran$:ois rushed off to weep all
alone by the fountain.
CHAPTER XXIV
MADELEINE was still more perplexed than Fran-
cois, and was on the point of following him
with questions and words of encouragement; but
she was held back by the sudden appearance of
Mariette, who, with a strange expression on her face,
announced the offer of marriage she had received
from Jean Aubard. Madeleine, who was unable to
disabuse herself of the idea that the whole affair was
the result of a lovers' quarrel, attempted to speak to
the girl of Francois; but Mariette answered in a tone
which gave her great pain, and was utterly incom-
prehensible to her:
*' Those people who care for foundlings may keep
them for their own amusement; I am an honest girl,
and shall not allow my good name to suffer because
my poor brother is dead. I am perfectly indepen-
dent, Madeleine; and if I am forced by law to ask
your advice, I am not forced to take it when it is not
223
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
for my good. So please do not stand in my way, or
I may stand in yours hereafter."
" I cannot imagine what is the matter with you,
my dear child," said Madeleine, very sweetly and
sadly. '* You speak to me as if you had neither re-
spect nor affection for me. I think you must be in
some distress which has confused your mind; so I
entreat you to take three or four days, in which to
decide. I shall tell Jean Aubard to come back, and
if you are of the same opinion after a little quiet re-
flection, I shall give you free leave to marry him, as
he is a respectable man, and comfortably off. But
you are in such an excited condition, just now, that
you cannot know your own mind, and you shut
your heart against my affection. You grieve me very
much, but as I see that you are grieved too, I for-
give you."
Mariette tossed her head, to show how much she
despised that sort of forgiveness, and ran away to
put on her silk apron and prepare for the reception of
Jean Aubard, who arrived, an hour later, with big
Severe in gala dress.
This time, at last, Madeleine was convinced of
Mariette's ill-will toward her, since the girl had
brought into her house, on a family matter, a woman
224
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
who was her enemy, and whom she blushed to see.
Notwithstanding this, she advanced very politely to
meet Severe, and served her with refreshments, with-
out any appearance of anger or dislike; for she feared
that if Mariette were opposed, she would prove un-
manageable. So Madeleine said that she made no
objection to her sister-in-law's desire, but requested
three days' grace before giving her answer.
Thereupon Severe said, insolently, that was a very
long time to wait. Madeleine answered quietly that
it was a very short time.
Jean Aubard then left, looking like a blockhead,
and giggling like a booby, for he was sure that Mar-
iette was madly in love with him. He had paid well
for this illusion, and Severe gave him his money's
worth.
As Severe left the house, she said to Mariette that
she had ordered a cake and some sweets at home for
the betrothal, and even if Madame Blanchet delayed
the preliminaries, they must sit down to the feast.
Madeleine objected that it was not proper for a young
girl to go off in the company of a man who had not
as yet received his answer from her family.
" If that is so, I shall not go," said Mariette. in a
huff.
»5 225
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
*'0h, yes, yes; you must come," Severe insisted;
*' are not you your own mistress ? "
^* No, indeed," returned Mariette; "you see my sis-
ter-in-law forbids me to go."
She went into her room and slammed the door;
but she merely passed through the house, went out
by the back door, and caught up with Severe and
her suitor at the end of the meadow, laughing and
jeering at Madeleine's expense.
Poor Madeleine could not restrain her tears when
she saw how things were going.
" Francois was right," thought she; '' the girl does
not love me, and she is ungrateful at heart. She
will not believe that I am acting for her good, that I
am most anxious for her happiness, and wish only to
prevent her doing something which she will regret
hereafter. She has taken evil counsel, and I am con-
demned to see that wretched Severe stirring up trou-
ble and strife in my family. I have not deserved all
these troubles, and I must submit to God's will.
Fortunately, poor Francois was more clear-sighted
than I. How. much he would suffer with such a
wife ! "
She went to look for him, to let him know what
she thought; but when she found him in tears be-
226
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
side the fountain, she supposed he was grieving for
the loss of Mariette, and attempted to comfort him.
The more she said the more pained he was, for it be-
came clear to him that she refused to understand the
truth, and that her heart could never feel for him in
the way he had hoped.
In the evening, when Jeannie was in bed and
asleep^ Francois sat with Madeleine, and sought to
explain himself.
He began by saying that Mariette was jealous of
her, and that Severe had slandered her infamously;
but Madeleine never dreamed of his meaning.
*' What can she say against me? " said she, sim-
ply; '* and what jealousy can she put into poor silly
little Mariette's head? You are mistaken, Franpois;
something else is at stake, some interested reason
which we shall hear later. It is not possible that
she should be jealous; I am too old to give any
anxiety to a young and pretty girl. I am almost
thirty, and for a peasant woman who has under-
gone a great deal of trouble and fatigue, that is old
enough to be your mother. The devil only could
say that I think of you in any way but as my son,
and Mariette must know I longed to have you both
marry. No, no; never believe that she has any
227
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
such evil thought, or, at least, do not mention it to
me, for I should be too much pained and mortified."
'' And yet," said Francois, making a great effort
to speak, and bending low over the fire to hide his
confusion from Madeleine, " Monsieur Blanchet had
some such evil thought when he turned me out of
doors!"
"What! Do you know that now, Francois?"
exclaimed Madeleine. " How is it that you know
it ? I never told you, and I never should have told
you. If Catherine spoke of it to you, she did
wrong. Such an idea must shock and pain you as
much as it does me, but we must try not to think
of it any more and to forgive my husband, now
that he is dead. All the obloquy of it falls upon
Severe; but now Severe can be no longer jealous of
me. I have no husband, and I am as old and ugly
as she could ever have wished, though I am not in
the least sorry for it, for I have gained the right of
being respected, of treating you as a son, and of
finding you a pretty young wife, who will live hap-
pily with me and love me as a mother. This is my
only wish, Franpois, and you must not distress
yourself, for we shall find her. So much the worse
for Mariette if she despises the happiness I had in
228
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
store for her. Now, go to bed, my child, and take
courage. If I thought I were any obstacle to your
marrying, I should send you away at once; but you
may be sure that nobody worries about me, or
imagines what is absolutely impossible."
As Fran(;:ois listened to Madeleine^ he was con-
vinced that she was right, so accustomed was he
to believe all that she said. He rose to bid her
good night, but, as he took her hand, it happened
that, for the first time in his life, he looked at her
with the intention of finding out whether she were
old and ugly; and the truth is, she had long been
so sad and serious that she deceived herself, and
was still as pretty a woman as she had ever been.
So when Francois saw all at once that she was
still young and as beautiful as the blessed Virgin,
his heart gave a great bound, as if he had climbed
to the pinnacle of a tower. He went back for the
night to the mill, where his bed was neatly spread
in a square of boards among the sacks of flour..
Once there, and by himself, he shivered and gasped
as if he had a fever; but it was only the fever of
love, for he who had all his life warmed himself
comfortably in front of the ashes, had suddenly
been scorched by a great burst of flame.
^5* 229
CHAPTER XXV
FROM that time on, the waif was so melancholy
that it made one's heart ache to see him. He
worked like a horse, but he found no more joy or
peace, and Madeleine could not induce him to say
what was the matter with him. It was in vain he
swore that he neither loved nor regretted Mariette,
for Madeleine would not believe him, and could assign
no other cause for his depression. She was grieved
that he should be in distress and yet no longer con-
fide in her, and she was amazed that his trouble
should make him so proud and self-willed.
As it was not in her nature to be tormenting, she
made up her mind to say nothing further to him on
the subject. She attempted to make Mariette reverse
her decision, but her overtures were so ill-received
that she lost courage, and was silent. Though her
heart was full of anguish, she kept it to herself, lest
she should add to the burden of others.
230
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
Francois worked for her, and served her with the
same zeal and devotion as before. As in the old
time, he stayed as much as possible in her company,
but he no longer spoke as he used. He was always
embarrassed with her, and turned first red as fire,
and then white as a sheet in the same minute. She
was afraid he was ill, and once took his hand to see
if he were feverish; but he drew back from her as if
her touch hurt him, and sometimes he reproached
her in words which she could not understand.
The trouble between them grew from day to day.
During all this time, great preparations were being
made for Mariette's marriage to Jean Aubard, and the
day which was to end her mourning was fixed as
that of the wedding.
Madeleine looked forward to that day with dread;
she feared that Francois would go crazy, and was
anxious to send him to spend a little time at Aigu-
rande, with his old master Jean Vertaud, so as to dis-
tract his mind. Francois, however, was unwilling
to let Mariette believe what Madeleine insisted upon
thinking. He showed no vexation before her, was
on friendly relations with her lover, and jested with
Severe, when he met her along the road, to let her
see that he had nothing to fear from her. He was
231
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
present at the wedding; and as he was really de-
lighted to have the house rid of the girl, and Made-
leine freed from her false friendship, it never crossed
anybody's mind that he had been in love with her.
The truth began to dawn even on Madeleine, or at
least she was inclined to believe that he had consoled
himself. She received Mariette's farewell with her
accustomed warmth of heart ; but as the young girl
still cherished a grudge against her on account of the
waif, Madeleine could not help seeing that her sister-
in-law left her without love or regret. Inured as she
was to sorrow, Madeleine wept over the girl's hard-
ness of heart, and prayed God to forgive her.
After a week had passed, Franfois unexpectedly
told her that he had some business at Aigurande
that would call him there for the space of five or
six days. She was not surprised, and hoped it would
be for the good of his health, for she believed that he
had stifled his grief, and was ill in consequence.
But that grief, which she thought he had over-
come, increased with him day by day. He could
think of nothing else, and whether asleep or awake,
far or near, Madeleine was always in his heart and
before his eyes. It is true that all his life had been
spent in loving her and thinking of her, but until
232
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
lately these thoughts of her had been his happiness
and consolation, whereas they were now his despair
and his undoing. As long as he was content to be her
son and friend, he wished for no better lot op earth ;
but now his love had changed its character, and he
was exquisitely unhappy. He fancied that she could
never change as he had done. He kept repeating to
himself that he was too young, that she had known
him as a forlorn and wretched child, that he could be
only an object of care and compassion to her, and
never of pride. In short, he believed her to be so
lovely and so attractive, so far above him, and so
much to be desired, that when she said she was no
longer young and pretty, he thought she was adopt-
ing a role to scare away her suitors.
In the mean time, Severe, Mariette, and their clan
were slandering her openly on his account, and he
was in terror lest some of the scandal should come
to her ears, and she should be displeased and long
for his departure. He knew she was too kind to ask
him to go, but he dreaded being again a cause of
annoyance to her, as he had been once before, and
it occurred to him to go to ask the advice of the
priest of Aigurande, whom he had found to be a
just and God-fearing man.
233
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
He went, but with no success, as the priest was
absent on a visit to his bishop ; so Francois returned
to the mill of Jean Vertaud, who had invited him
for a few days' visit, while waiting for the priest's
return.
He found his kind master as true a man and as
faithful a friend as he had left him, and his good
daughter Jeannette on the brink of marriage with a
very respectable man whom she had accepted from
motives of prudence rather than of enthusiasm, but
for whom she fortunately felt more liking than dis-
taste. This put Francois more at his ease with her
than he had ever been, and the next day being Sun-
day, he had a long talk with her, and confided in
her Madame Blanchet's many difficulties, and his
satisfaction in rescuing her from them.
Jeannette was quick-witted, and from one thing
and another she guessed that the waif was more
agitated by his attachment to Madeleine than he
would confess. She laid her hand on his arm, and
said to him abruptly:
*' Francois, you must hide nothing from me. I
have come to my senses now, and you see that I
am not ashamed to tell you that I once thought
more of you than you did of me. You knew my
234
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
feelings, and you could not return them, but you
would not deceive me, and no selfish interest led
you to do what many others would have done in
your place. I respect you both for your behavior
toward me and for your constancy to the woman
you loved best in the world; and instead of disown-
ing my regard for you, I am glad to remember it. I
expect you to think the better of me for acknow-
ledging it, and to do me the justice to observe that
I bear no grudge or malice toward you for your
coolness. I mean to give you the greatest possible
token of my esteem. You love Madeleine Blanchet,
not indeed as a mother, but as a young and attrac-
tive woman, whom you wish for your wife."
'* Oh! "said Francois, blushing like a girl, 'M
love her as a mother, and my heart is full of respect
for her."
'* I have no doubt of it," answered Jeannette;
"but you love her in two ways, for your face says
one thing and your words another. Very well,
Fran<;:ois; you dare not tell her what you dare not
even confess to me, and you do not know whether
she can answer your two ways of loving."
Jeannette Vertaud spoke with so much sense and
sweetness, and showed Francois such true friend-
235
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
ship, that he had not the courage to deceive her,
and pressing her hand, he told her that she was like
a sister to him, and the only person in the world to
whom he had the heart to disclose his secret.
Jeannette asked him several questions, which he
answered tiuly and openly.
*' Francois, my friend," said she, " I understand it
all. It is impossible for me to know what Made-
leine Blanchet will think about it; but I see that
you might be for years in her company without
having the boldness to tell her what you have on
your mind. No matter. I shall find out for you, and
shall let you know. My father and you and I shall
set out to-morrow for a friendly visit to Cormouer,
as if we went to make the acquaintance of the kind
woman who brought up our friend Francois; you
must take my father to walk about the place, under
pretext of asking his advice, and I shall spend the
time talking with Madeleine. I shall use a great
deal of tact, and shall not tell what your feelings
are until I am certain of hers."
Francois was so grateful to Jeannette that he was
ready to fall on his knees before her; and Jean Ver-
taud, who, with the waifs permission, was in-
formed of the situation, gave his consent to the
236
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
plan. Next day they set out; Jeannette rode on the
croup behind her father, and Franfpis started an
hour earlier than they to prepare Madeleine for the
visit she was to receive.
The sun was setting as Francois approached Cor-
mouer. A storm came up during his ride, and he
was drenched to the skin; but he never murmured,
for he had good hope in Jeannette's friendly offices,
and his heart was lighter than when he had left
home. The water was dripping from the bushes,
and the blackbirds were singing like mad in thank-
fulness for a last gleam from the sun before it sank
behind the hill of Grand-Corlay. Great flocks of
birds fluttered from branch to branch around Fran-
cois, and their joyous chattering cheered his spirits.
He thought of the time when he was little, and
roamed about the meadows, whistling to attract the
birds, absorbed in his childish dreams and fancies.
Just then a handsome bullfinch hovered round his
head, like a harbinger of good luck and good tid-
ings, and his thoughts wandered back to his Mother
Zabelle and the quaint songs of the olden time, with
which she used to sing him to sleep.
Madeleine did not expect him so soon. She had
even feared that he would never come back at all,
237
FRANgOlS THE WAIF
and when she caught sight of him, she could not help
running to kiss him, and was surprised to see how
much it made him blush. He announced the ap-
proaching visit, and apparently as much afraid of hav-
ing her guess his feelings as he was grieved to have her
ignore them, in order to prevent her suspecting any-
thing, he told her that Jean Vertaud thought of buy-
ing some land in the neigborhood.
Then Madeleine bestirred herself to prepare the
best entertainment she could offer to Francois's
friends.
Jeannette was the first to enter the house, while her
father was putting up their horse in the stable ; and
as s«on as she saw Madeleine, she took a great lik-
ing for her, a liking which the other woman fully re-
turned. They began by shaking hands, but they
soon fell to kissing each other for the sake of their
common love for Francois, and they spoke together
freely, as if they had had a long and intimate ac-
quaintance. The truth is they were both excellent
women, and made such a pair as is hard to find.
Jeannette could not help a pang on seeing Made-
leine, whom she knew to be idolized by the man for
whom she herself still cherished a lingering fondness;
but she felt no jealousy, and tried to forget her grief in
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
the good action on which she was bent. On the other
hand, when Madeleine saw the young woman's sweet
face and graceful figure, she supposed that it was she
whom Francois had loved and pined for, that they
were now betrothed, and that Jeannette had come to
bring the news in person; but neither did she feel
any jealousy, for she had never thought of Francois
save as her own child.
In the evening, after supper, Father Vertaud, who
was tired by his ride, went to bed; and Jeannette
took Madeleine out into the garden with her, after
first instructing Francois to keep a little aloof with
Jeannie, but still near enough to see her let down the
corner of her apron, which she wore tucked up on
one side, for this was to be the signal for him to join
them. She then fulfilled her mission conscientiously,
and so skilfully that Madeleine had no time to ex-
claim, although beyond measure astonished, as the
matter was unfolded to her. At first she thought it
but another proof of Francois's goodness of heart,
that he wished to put a stop to all evil gossip, and
to devote his life to her service; and she would have
refused, thinking it too great a sacrifice on the part
of so young a man to marry a woman older than
himself She feared he would repent later, and could
239
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
not long keep his faith to her, without vexation and
regret; but Jeannette gave her to understand that
the waif was in love with her, heart and soul, and
that he was losing his health and peace of mind
because of her.
This was inconceivable to Madeleine. She had
lived such a sober and retired life, never adorning
her person, never appearing in public, nor listening
to flattery, that she had no longer any idea of the
impression she might make upon a man.
''Then," said Jeannette, ''since he loves you so
much, and will die if you refuse him, will you per-
sist in closing your eyes and ears to what I say to
you? If you do, it must be because you dislike the
poor young fellow, and would be sorry to make him
happy."
" Do not say that, jeannette," answered Made-
leine; 'M love him almost, if not quite, as much as
my Jeannie, and if I had ever suspected that he
thought of me in another light, it is quite possible
that my affection for him would have been more
passionate. But what can you expect? I never
dreamed of this, and I am still so dazed that I do not
know how to answer. I ask for time to think of it
and to talk it over with him, so that I may find out
240
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
whether he does this from a whim or out of mere
pique, or whether, perhaps, he thinks it is a duty he
owes me. This I am afraid of most of all, and I
think he has repaid me fully for the care I took of
him, and it would be too much for him to give me
his liberty and himself, at least unless he loves me
as you think he does."
When Jeannette heard these words, she let down
the corner of her apron, and Francois, who was
waiting near at hand with his eyes fixed upon her,
was beside them in an instant. The clever Jean-
nette asked Jeannie to show her the fountain, and
they strolled off together, leaving Madeleine and
Fran(;:ois together.
But Madeleine, who had expected to put her ques-
tions to the waif, in perfect calmness, was suddenly
covered with shyness and confusion, like a young
girl ; for confusion such as hers, so sweet and pleas-
ant to see, belongs to no age, but is bred of inno-
cence of mind and purity of life. When Francois
saw that his dear mother blushed and trembled as he
did, he received it as a more favorable token than
if she had kept her usual serene manner. He took
her hand and arm, but he could not speak. Tremb-
ling all the while, she tried to shake herself loose and
^6 . 241
FRANgOIS THE WAIF
to follow Jeannie and Jeannette, but he held her fast,
and made her turn back with him. When Made-
leine saw his boldness in opposing his will to hers,
she understood, better than if he had spoken, that it
was no longer her child, the waif, but her lover,
Francois, that walked by her side.
After they had gone a little distance, silent, but
linked arm in arm, as vine is interlaced with vine,
Francois said:
** Let us go to the fountain ; perhaps I may find my
tongue there."
They did not find Jeannie and Jeannette beside
the fountain, for they had gone home ; but Francois
found courage to speak, remembering that it was
there he had seen Madeleine for the first time, and
there, too, he had bidden her farewell, eleven years
afterward. We must believe that he spoke very
fluently, and that Madeleine did not gainsay him,
for they were still there at midnight. She was cry-
ing for joy, and he was on his knees before her,
thanking her for accepting him for her husband.
'' There ends the story," said the hemp-dresser,
"for it would take too long to tell you about the
wedding. I was present, myself, and the same day
242
FRANCOIS THE WAIF
the waif married Madeleine in the parish of Mers,
Jeannette was married in the parish of Aigurande.
Je^n Vertaud insisted that Francois and his wife,
and Jeannie, who was happy as a king, with their
friends, relations, and acquaintances, should come to
his house for the wedding-feast, which was finer,
grander, and more delightful than anything I have
ever seen since."
**Is the story true in all points?" asked Sylvinc
Courtioux.
"If it is not, it might be," answered the hemp-
dresser. " If you do not believe me, go and see for
yourself."
243
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