Golden Stories Part 18

THE two cottages stood side by side at the foot of a hill near a little seaside resort. The two peasants labored hard on the unproductive soil to rear their little ones, of which each family had four.

In front of the adjoining doors the whole troop of urchins sprang and tumbled about from morning till night. The two eldest were six years old, and the two youngest were about fifteen months; the marriages, and afterward the births, having taken place nearly simultaneously in both families.

The two mothers could hardly distinguish their own offspring among the lot, and as for the fathers, they were altogether at sea. The eight names danced in their heads; they were always getting them mixed up; and when they wished to call one child, the men often called three names before getting the right one.

The first of the two dwellings, coming from the direction of the sea-bath, Belleport, was occupied by the Tuvaches, who had three girls and one boy; the other house sheltered the Vallins, who had one girl and three boys.

They all subsisted with difficulty on soup, potatoes, and the open air.

At seven o'clock in the morning, then at noon, then at six o'clock in the evening, the housewives got their nestlings together to give them their food, as the goose-herds collect their charges. The children were seated, according to age, before the wooden table, varnished by fifty years of use; the mouths of the youngest hardly reaching the level of the table. Before them was placed a deep dish filled with bread, soaked in the water in which the potatoes had been boiled, half a cabbage, and three onions; and the whole line ate until their hunger was appeased.

The mother herself fed the smallest.

A little meat, boiled in a soup, on Sunday, was a feast for all; and the father on this day sat longer over the repast, repeating: "I should like this every day."

One afternoon, in the month of August, a light carriage stopped suddenly in front of the cottages, and a young woman, who was driving the horses, said to the gentleman sitting at her side:

"Oh, look, Henri, at all those children! How pretty they are, tumbling about in the dust, like that!"

The man did not answer, being accustomed to these outbursts of admiration, which were a pain and almost a reproach to him. The young woman continued:

"I must hug them! Oh, how I should like to have one of them--that one there--the little bit of a one!"

Springing down from the carriage, she ran toward the children, took one of the two youngest--that of the Tuvaches, and lifting it up in her arms, she kissed him pa.s.sionately on his dirty cheeks, on his frowzy hair daubed with earth, and on his little hands, which he swung vigorously, to get rid of the caresses which displeased him.

Then she got up into the carriage again, and drove off at a lively trot.

But she returned the following week, and seating herself on the ground, took the youngster in her arms, stuffed him with cakes, gave bon-bons to all the others, and played with them like a young girl, while the husband waited patiently in the frail carriage.

She returned again; made the acquaintance of the parents, and reappeared every day with her pockets full of dainties and of pennies.

Her name was Madame Henri d'Hubieres.

One morning, on arriving, her husband alighted with her, and without stopping with the children, who now knew her well, she entered the peasants' cottage.

They were busy splitting wood to cook the soup. They straightened up, much surprised, offered chairs, and waited expectantly.

Then the woman, in a broken, trembling voice, began:

"My good people, I have come to see you, because I should like--I should like to take--your little boy with me----"

The country people, too stupefied to think, did not answer.

She recovered her breath, and continued: "We are alone, my husband and I. We should keep it--Are you willing?"

The peasant woman began to understand. She asked:

"You want to take Charlot from us? Oh, no, indeed!"

Then M. d'Hubieres intervened:

"My wife has not explained clearly what she means. We wish to adopt him, but he will come back to see you. If he turns out well, as there is every reason to expect, he will be our heir. If we, perchance, should have children, he will share equally with them; but if he should not reward our care, we should give him, when he comes of age, a sum of twenty thousand francs, which shall be deposited immediately in his name, with a notary. As we have thought also of you, we should pay you, until your death, a pension of one hundred francs a month. Have you quite understood me?"

The woman had arisen, furious.

"You want me to sell you Charlot? Oh, no, that's not the sort of thing to ask of a mother! Oh, no! That would be an abomination!"

The man, grave and deliberate, said nothing; but approved of what his wife said by a continued nodding of his head.

Mme. d'Hubieres, in dismay, began to weep, and turning to her husband, with a voice full of tears, the voice of a child used to having all its wishes gratified, she stammered:

"They will not do it, Henri, they will not do it."

Then he made a last attempt: "But, my friends, think of the child's future, of his happiness, of----"

The peasant woman, however, exasperated, cut him short:

"It's all considered! It's all understood! Get out of this, and don't let me see you here again--the idea of wanting to take away a child like that!"

Then Mme. d'Hubieres bethought herself that there were two children, quite little, and she asked, through her tears, with the tenacity of a wilful and spoiled woman:

"But is the other little one not yours?"

Father Tuvache answered: "No, it is our neighbors'. You can go to them, if you wish." And he went back into his house whence resounded the indignant voice of his wife.

The Vallins were at table, in the act of slowly eating slices of bread which they parsimoniously spread with a little rancid b.u.t.ter on a plate between the two.

M. d'Hubieres recommenced his propositions, but with more insinuations, more oratorical precautions, more guile.

The two country people shook their heads, in sign of refusal, but when they learned that they were to have a hundred francs a month, they considered, consulting one another by glances, much disturbed. They kept silent for a long time, tortured, hesitating. At last the woman asked: "What do you think about it, man?" In a sententious tone he said: "I say that it's not to be despised."

Then Mme. d'Hubieres, trembling with anguish, spoke of the future of their child, of his happiness, and of the money which he could give them later.

The peasant asked: "This pension of twelve hundred francs, will it be promised before a notary?"

M. d'Hubieres responded: "Why, certainly, beginning with to-morrow."

The woman, who was thinking it over, continued:

"A hundred francs a month is not enough to deprive us of the child. That child would be working in a few years; we must have a hundred and twenty francs."

Stamping with impatience, Mme. d'Hubieres granted it at once, and as she wished to carry off the child with her, she gave a hundred francs as a present, while her husband drew up a writing. And the young woman, radiant, carried off the howling brat, as one carries away a wished-for knick-knack from a shop.

The Tuvaches, from their door, watched her departure; mute, severe, perhaps regretting their refusal.

Nothing more was heard of little Jean Vallin. The parents went to the notary every month to collect their hundred and twenty francs, and they were angry with their neighbors, because Mother Tuvache grossly insulted them, repeating without ceasing from door to door, that one must be unnatural to sell one's child; that it was horrible, nasty, and many other vile expressions. Sometimes she would take her Chariot in her arms with ostentation, exclaiming, as if he understood:

"I didn't sell _you_, I didn't! I didn't sell _you_, my little one! I'm not rich, but I don't sell my children!"

The Vallins lived at their ease, thanks to the pension. That was the cause of the inappeasable fury of the Tuvaches, who had remained miserably poor. Their eldest son went away into service; Charlot alone remained to labor with his old father, to support the mother and two younger sisters which he had.