The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"I have no money at all; but I'll sell my allowance for to-morrow, and put whatever any one will give for it into the collection. Who'll buy my to-morrow's rations?"

"I will," said La Louve. "So, here I put in ten sous for you; but you shall keep your rations. And now, Mont Saint-Jean shall have baby clothes fit for a princess."

To express the joy and gratitude of Mont Saint-Jean would be wholly impossible. The most intense delight and happiness illumined her countenance, and rendered even her usual hideous features interesting. Fleur-de-Marie was almost as happy, though compelled to say, when La Louve handed to her the collecting-cap:

"I am very sorry I have not a single sou of money, but I will work as long as you please at making the clothes."

"Oh, my dear heavenly angel!" cried Mont Saint-Jean, throwing herself on her knees before La Goualeuse, and striving to kiss her hand. "What have I ever done to merit such goodness on your part, or the charity of these kind ladies? Gracious Father! Do I hear aright? Baby things! and all nice and comfortable for my child! A real, proper set of baby clothes! Everything I can require! Who would ever have thought of such a thing? I am sure I never should. I shall lose my senses with joy! Only to think that a poor, miserable wretch like myself, the make-game of everybody, should all at once, just because you spoke a few soft, sweet words out of that heavenly mouth, have such wonderful blessings! See how your words have changed those who meant to harm me, but who now pity me and are my friends; and I feel as though I could never thank them enough, or express my gratitude! Oh, how very, very kind of them! How wrong of me to be offended and angry with what they said! How stupid and ungrateful I must have been not to perceive that they were only playing with me, – that they had no intention of harming me. Oh, no! It was all meant for my good. Here is a proof of it. Oh, for the future, if they like to knock me about ever so, I will not so much as cry out! Oh, I was too impatient when I complained before; but I will make up for it next time!"

"Eighty-eight francs seven sous!" said La Louve, finishing her reckoning of the collection gathered by handing about the little bonnet. "Who will be treasurer till we lay out the money? We must not entrust it to Mont Saint-Jean, she is too simple."

"Let La Goualeuse take charge of it!" cried a unanimous burst of voices.

"No," said Fleur-de-Marie; "the best way will be to beg of the inspectress, Madame Armand, to take charge of the sum collected, and to buy the necessary articles for Mont Saint-Jean's confinement; and then, – who knows? – perhaps Madame Armand may take notice of the good action you have performed, and report it, so as to be the means of shortening the imprisonment of all whose names are mentioned as being concerned in it. Tell me, La Louve," added Fleur-de-Marie, taking her companion by the arm, "are you not better satisfied with yourself than you were just now, when you were throwing about all Mont Saint-Jean's poor baby's things?"

La Louve did not immediately reply. To the generous excitement which a few moments before animated her features, succeeded a sort of half savage air of defiance. Unable to comprehend the cause of this sudden change, Fleur-de-Marie looked at her with surprise.

"Come here, La Goualeuse," said La Louve at last, with a gloomy tone; "I want to speak to you."

Then abruptly quitting the other prisoners, she led Fleur-de-Marie to a reservoir of water, surrounded by a stone coping, which had been hollowed out in the midst of an adjoining meadow. Near the water was a bench, also of stone, on which La Louve and La Goualeuse placed themselves, and were thus, in a manner, beyond the observation or hearing of their companions.

CHAPTER XI

LA LOUVE AND LA GOUALEUSE

We firmly believe in the influence of certain master minds so far sympathising with the masses, so powerful over them as to impose on them the bias of good or evil. Some, bold, enthusiastic, indomitable, addressing themselves to the worst passions, will rouse them, as the storm raises the foam of the sea; but, like all tempests, these are as ephemeral as they are furious; to these terrible effervescences will succeed the sullen reversion of sadness and restlessness, which will obtain supremacy over the most miserable conditions. The reaction of violence is always severe; the waking after an excess is always painful.

La Louve, if you will, personifies this fatal influence.

Other organisations, more rare, because their generous instincts must be fertilised by intelligence, and with them the mind is on an equality with the heart, – others, we say, will inspire good, as well as some inspire evil. Their wholesome influence will gently penetrate into the soul, as the warm rays of the sun penetrate the body with invigorating heat, as the arid and burning earth imbibes the fresh and grateful dew of night.

Fleur-de-Marie, if you will, personifies this benevolent influence.

The reaction to good is not so sudden as the reaction to evil; its effects are more protracted. It is something delicious, inexplicable, which gradually extends itself, calms and soothes the most hardened heart, and gives it the feeling of inexpressible serenity. Unfortunately the charm ceases.

After having seen celestial brightness, ill-disposed persons fall back into the darkness of their habitual life; the recollections of sweet emotions which have for a moment surprised them are gradually effaced. Still they sometimes seek vaguely to recall them, even as we try to murmur out the songs with which our happy infancy was cradled. Thanks to the good action with which she had inspired them, the companions of La Goualeuse had tasted of the passing sweetness of these feelings, in which even La Louve had participated; but this latter, for reasons we shall describe hereafter, remained a shorter time than the other prisoners under this benevolent feeling. If we are surprised to hear and see Fleur-de-Marie, hitherto so passively, so painfully resigned, act and speak with courage and authority, it was because the noble precepts she had imbibed during her residence at the farm at Bouqueval had rapidly developed the rare qualities of her admirable disposition. Fleur-de-Marie understood that it is not sufficient to bewail the irreparable past, and that it is only in doing or inspiring good that a reinstatement can be hoped for.

We have said that La Louve was sitting on a wooden bench, beside La Goualeuse. The close proximity of these two young girls offered a singular contrast.

The pale rays of a winter sun were shed over them; the pure sky was speckled in places with small, white, and fleecy clouds; some birds, enlivened by the warmth of the temperature, were warbling in the black branches of the large chestnut-trees in the yard; two or three sparrows, more bold than their fellows, came and drank in a small rivulet formed by the overflow of the basin; the green moss covered the stones of the fountain, and between their joints, here and there, were tufts of grass and some small creepers, spared by the frost. This description of a prison-basin may seem puerile; but Fleur-de-Marie did not lose one of the details, but with her eyes fixed mournfully on the little verdant corner, and on this limpid water in which the moving whiteness of the clouds over the azure of the heavens was reflected, in which the golden rays of a lovely sun broke with beautiful lustre, she thought with a sigh of the magnificence of the Nature which she loved, which she admired so poetically, and of which she was still deprived.

"What did you wish to say to me?" asked La Goualeuse of her companion, who, seated beside her, was gloomy and silent.

"We must have an explanation," said La Louve, sternly; "things cannot go on as they are."

"I do not understand you, La Louve."

"Just now, in the yard, referring to Mont Saint-Jean, I said to myself, 'I won't give way any more to La Goualeuse,' and yet I do give way now."

"But – "

"But I tell you it cannot continue so."

"In what have I offended you, La Louve?"

"Why, I am not the same person I was when you came here; no, I have neither courage, strength, nor boldness."

Then suddenly checking herself, La Louve pulled up the sleeve of her gown, and showing La Goualeuse her white arm, powerful, and covered with black down, she showed her, on the upper part of it, an indelible tattooing, representing a blue dagger half plunged in a red heart; over this emblem were these words:

MORT AUX LÂCHES!

MARTIAL

P. L. V. (pour la vie.)

(DEATH TO COWARDS!

MARTIAL

FOR LIFE!)

"Do you see that?" asked La Louve.

"Yes; and it is so shocking, it quite frightens me," said La Goualeuse, turning away her head.

"When Martial, my lover, wrote, with a red-hot needle, these words on my arm, 'Death to Cowards!' he thought me brave; if he knew my behaviour for the last three days, he would stick his knife in my body, as this dagger is driven into this heart, – and he would be right, for he wrote here, 'Death to Cowards!' and I am a coward."

"What have you done that is cowardly?"

"Everything."

"Do you regret the good resolution you made just now?"

"Yes."

"I cannot believe you."

"I say I do regret it, – for it is another proof of what you can do with all of us. Didn't you understand what Mont Saint-Jean meant when she went on her knees to thank you?"

"What did she say?"

"She said, speaking of you, that with nothing you turned us from evil to good. I could have throttled her when she said it, for, to our shame, it was true. Yes, in no time you change us from black to white. We listen to you, – give way to our first feelings, and are your dupes, as we were just now."

"My dupe! for having generously succoured this poor woman?"

"Oh, it has nothing to do with all that," exclaimed La Louve, with rage. "I have never till now stooped my head before a breathing soul. La Louve is my name, and I am well named: more than one woman bears my marks, and more than one man, too; and it shall never be said that a little chit like you can place me beneath her feet."

"Me! and in what way?"