A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.
CHAPTER IV.
MAURICE’S FATHER IS ILL.—A RICH LITTLE GIRL.—A FAMILY IN DISTRESS.—WHAT OUGHT MAURICE TO DO?
Some months later, when the Spring had come on, and the sun was beginning to give warmth, while the air was already perfumed with violets, Maurice was walking, one beautiful morning, in the Luxembourg gardens. He had Cressida with him, whom he sometimes rode and sometimes led, and Jacques the old servant was also there. A number of children were in the gardens, playing at different games, and enjoying themselves in the bright sunshine. They were chattering away too as gaily as the little wild birds overhead were singing in the soft air.
Maurice alone was not amusing himself, and old Jacques the servant walked after him in silence, looking as sad as his young master. Alas! my kind-hearted little readers, you will be grieved, I know, when you hear the cause of my little friend’s sadness: Maurice’s father was seriously ill.
That very morning Maurice had been present, without any one knowing it, at a consultation between two famous doctors, who were attending his father. He happened to be in the drawing-room, standing at a window and half hidden behind the curtain, when they came in, and they had not observed him. Although he did not understand all they said, he heard enough to cause him great unhappiness and alarm. He had now come into the Luxembourg gardens—not because he thought of amusing or enjoying himself, but because his mamma had wished him to go out.
MAURICE WAS PRESENT AT A CONSULTATION.
While he was sitting on Cressida’s back, with the reins thrown carelessly on its neck, and moving at a slow walk to suit his thoughtful and sad mood, he noticed that a little girl, rather older than himself, was coming towards him as if she wished to say something. She was accompanied by a lady, too young to be her mother, of a graceful figure though simply dressed. The little girl, whose face expressed a bold and decided character, called out to Maurice,—
“Young gentleman, sell me your horse.”
“Sell Cressida!” cried Maurice, with astonishment. “Oh, no, certainly not.”
“I will pay you with ten pieces of gold money that I have here in my purse.”
“What! you’ve got ten pieces of gold money of your own?”
“My very own.”
“Do just let me look at them,” begged Maurice.
“Look!” said she, opening a pretty little purse with an air of triumph.
“What a lot of gold!” exclaimed my little friend, and he put out his hand to touch it. Then drawing his hand quickly back, he added: “No, no, I cannot sell Cressida. But tell me, who has given you all this gold?”
“It was my papa. Yesterday was his birthday, and I repeated to him a bit of poetry—such pretty poetry!—wishing him many happy returns of the day. Miss Henriette—she’s my English governess, the young lady you see there—she had written it out for me. When I repeated the lines to papa, he gave me these ten napoleons, and he told me to buy something handsome with them for myself,—anything I liked.”
“But I have no idea of selling Cressida,” repeated Maurice.
“You’ve not had him long then, I suppose—not got tired of him yet?”
“I don’t remember exactly how long; eight or nine months perhaps.”
“Nine months! It’s an age; I never kept a plaything for nine months.”
“What do you do then?”
“NO, NO, I CANNOT SELL YOU CRESSIDA.”
“I give them away or I break them. Don’t you get tired of having the same toys always?”
“Cressida is not a common toy to me.”
“Oh, he’s very handsome, no doubt; I thought at first he was a real pony. But with ten napoleons you can buy another,—you can buy a white one, and that would be a change, you know. Come, you’ll alter your mind, won’t you?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Indeed, I’m sure I shall not.”
“You are not like me then,” replied the little girl, “I am always changing my mind. Yesterday, what I wished for most in the world was a set of cups and saucers of Sèvres china for my doll; this morning I wanted most a coral necklace for myself; then I wanted an ermine muff; and now I want to buy your horse. Don’t I change my mind often? But your horse I really wish for very much: the fact is I never saw one like it at any toy-shop.”
“I should think not,” said Maurice.
“But I shall only care for it, you know, till I have a real pony. My papa has promised to buy me a real pony in a year.”
“Your papa is rich then?”
“Is my papa rich! I should think so indeed. My papa is a wine-merchant, and he has made thousands upon thousands and millions upon millions in his business: he’s going to make a great deal more yet too, I can tell you.”
This heaping up of millions upon millions caused Maurice to open his eyes very wide.
“What is your name?” he asked of the young girl.
“I am called Adrienne,” she replied.
“Adrienne what?”
“Adrienne Fallachon, since you wish to know. But that will not be my name always, for my papa intends me to marry a duke or a prince when I am old enough. Some little girls I know turn up their noses at me because my papa is a wine-merchant, and I told him of it one day. Oh, he was in such a passion! What names he did call them! He took me up on his knee, and said he loved me doubly since my mamma died; and he declared he would make such a deal of money to give me when I marry that I should be a princess, or a duchess at the least. That’s what he said: isn’t he a good papa?”
“Oh, yes, indeed he is. But those little girls were very ill-natured, I think.”
“Yes, were they not? Suppose now we become great friends. I shall be here every day, and sometimes we’ll play together: do you agree?”
Maurice said he should be very glad.
“But I’ve told you my name,” went on Adrienne; “tell me now in return, what’s your name?”
“Maurice de Roisel.”
“Maurice de Roisel! that’s a pretty name. Have you a title? If you have, I’ll marry you when you’re grown up.”
“Oh, as for a title, I really don’t know, but I’ll ask mamma if I have one.”
“Do; you need only be a duke, you understand.”
Saying this she went off to play with her hoop, and Maurice continued his ride, with Jacques walking by his side.
As Maurice approached the gate of the garden, he beheld a sight which filled his kind young heart with pity. Seated on the pavement outside the garden, and leaning against the iron railing, was a young woman with three pretty children. They appeared to be in the deepest despair, but there was a certain dignity in their grief; they wept silently, and seemed anxious to avoid the notice of the passers-by. As he watched them, he thought to himself—his mind dwelling upon his own anxiety—“I wonder if their father’s dead that they cry so bitterly?” He did not like to speak to them, however, but only looked at them from a little distance through the railings. Presently one of the children—a charming little girl—looked up at Maurice, and then he ventured to approach and ask her what made them so miserable.
THEY APPEARED TO BE IN THE DEEPEST DESPAIR.
“Alas!” she replied, speaking bad French with a German accent, “it is the greatest misfortune that could befall us: we are separated for ever from our father. Our poor dear papa is expecting us at New York, where he has some land, and where we could be rich and happy; and now it is impossible for us to go to him. Alas! there is nothing for us but to die.”
“To die! Oh, don’t say that—it’s dreadful,” rejoined Maurice.
“Yes, it is dreadful,” continued the girl. “And my poor father—Ah, what grief for him too!”
“But how does it happen that you cannot go out to join him?”
“We have not the means; we are without money.”
“Money? I’ve got some money.” And Maurice hastened to offer the contents of his little purse—about five or six francs.
The little girl did not take them, but turned to her mother, who was pressing to her heart her other two children, handsome boys of three and four years old. The mother and her daughter spoke together for a minute in German.
“Why do you not take what I offer?” said Maurice.
“Because,” replied the girl,—for her mother could not speak French,—“because, though it is a good deal for you to give, it would be of no use to us. To save us we want two hundred francs—that is, ten gold napoleons. Who would give them to us?”
“Ten pieces of gold money,” cried my little friend. “Wait a minute; I know somebody who has them.”
He gave Cressida into the care of Jacques, and running after Adrienne, took her by the hand, and led her up to this poor family.
“Give your money to these good people,” said he.
“No, indeed!” replied Adrienne, astonished; “my papa told me to buy something with the money for myself, and I’m not going to give it to beggars.”
“But just consider, Adrienne,” said her English governess, who had followed her, “whether you would not do well to give some help to this unhappy woman and her little children: such a kind action would be all the kinder if you do it by the sacrifice of something you intended to buy for yourself.”
“But my papa does not wish me to make sacrifices,” said Adrienne. And nothing that her governess or Maurice could say would induce her to part with her money.
Maurice thought for a moment of going home to his mother to ask her for the two hundred francs; but remembering that she would certainly be in his father’s sick-room nursing him, he felt that it would not do to disturb or trouble her now. Then he turned to Jacques.
“Can you lend me two hundred francs, Jacques?”
“Two hundred francs!” cried Jacques; “why you would not surely give so much to people you know nothing about. But at all events I don’t possess two hundred francs.”
“Is it so large a sum then?” inquired Maurice.
“It is more than my wages for half a year come to.”
“My dear young gentleman,” said the governess, addressing Maurice, “I see you have a good heart, but perhaps it would be wise, before you think any more about helping this poor woman, to inquire what has happened to throw them suddenly into such a state of destitution. You see they are quite nicely dressed, and do not look at all as if they were accustomed to ask for charity.”
In answer to the questions of the governess and Maurice, the little girl, who was the only one that could speak French, explained that they were Germans from Nuremburg: that they had arrived only that morning in Paris by railway from that city, intending to go on from Paris to Nantes, where they were to embark for New York. Their father had gone out to New York about two years before to settle there: he had been prosperous, and they were going to join him. Their baggage had been already seat on from Nuremburg to Nantes, and put on board the vessel in which their passage had been engaged and paid for by their father at New York, the captain being a friend of his.
She said that when they got out of the train at Paris that morning, they missed a little portmanteau, the only luggage they carried with them, which contained, besides some change of linen, all the money they had. It had either been stolen or lost in the confusion of getting out of the train. So they found themselves now in this great city without friends and without money, and—worst of all—the vessel would sail to-morrow evening, and unless they could go on at once their passage would be lost.
She told her story with such earnestness and simplicity that no one could doubt its truth; and the governess made one more effort to excite the compassion of her pupil. But Adrienne was quite insensible to the suffering of others, and ran off, bowling her hoop.
“Still,” said Maurice, looking after her, “I know one way of finding the money, if I could but make up my mind to do it: I could sell my horse to Adrienne.”
“What do you say, Master Maurice?” exclaimed Jacques. “It is impossible. Sell Cressida, that you refused so bravely to part with to your uncle! Think of your promise to Fritz.”
“When I made that promise, Fritz told me expressly that I might sell it only in order to help any one who was in great distress. Would not he have wished to help this poor woman and these children? That I am sure he would. Still it breaks my heart to part with Cressida: I can hardly bear to think about it: but I will do it.”
Adrienne ran up with her hoop at this moment, and her joy was unbounded when she heard that Maurice consented at last to sell Cressida to her for the ten pieces of gold. She kissed Maurice and she kissed the little horse. She clapped her hands and danced about with delight.
As soon as her expressions of joy had begun to subside Maurice said to her very seriously:—“I have one favour to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“That when you get tired of Cressida you will not throw it aside, or give it to the first person who comes in the way, without knowing whether it is taken care of or not. The favour I ask is that you will just think of it, and care for it a little sometimes, even after it no longer amuses you.”
“Oh, yes, that I certainly will,” said Adrienne. “I’ll keep it myself as long as it’s in good condition; that is, till I break it, I mean; and when I have quite done with it, I won’t be so cruel as to throw it away, or give it to the first who asks me. No, you may be quite easy about that: I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When it’s broken, I’ll make it a present to the children of my nurse. They are great fat country children, with cheeks like rosy apples; but oh, so stupid! and not difficult to please, I assure you. If Cressida has lost two or three of its legs they will admire it all the same, and it will amuse them immensely.”
This picture of the probable future in store for the little horse was not calculated to comfort Maurice, whatever it was meant to do. Indeed he felt very much inclined to be off the bargain, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks.
If the actors in this scene had not been so engrossed with the matter they were discussing, they would certainly have noticed a rather old gentleman, who was walking up and down, with his hands behind him, at a few paces from where they stood, and who was evidently listening to all they said. At this moment, when Maurice was looking very unhappy—for his delight at helping this poor family did not prevent his feeling a sort of horror to think that Fritz’s wonderful mechanical work should pass into such bad hands,—just at this moment, the old gentleman came straight up to them, and spoke to Maurice.
What he said to Maurice, and what he did, are too important to the course of this story to come in at the end of a chapter; and I will reserve them for the beginning of the next. But I do not mind letting my little readers know at once that Adrienne did not have the horse after all.
PUZZLE-PAGE.
Here are six objects for you to find out, children; one begins with D, one with G, one with L, one with N, one with P, and one with Y.
