Paulette is thin, pale, and miserably clad; but she has
always the same open and straightforward look—the same
mouth, smiling at every word as if to plead for sympathy—the
same voice, timid yet caressing. Paulette is not 10
pretty—she is even thought plain; as for me, I think her
charming. Perhaps that is not on her account but on my
own. Paulette is a part of one of my happiest recollections.
It was the evening of a public holiday. Our principal
buildings were lighted with festoons of fire, a thousand
flags floated in the night wind, and the fireworks had just
shot forth their jets of flame in the midst of the Champ de
Mars. Suddenly one of those unaccountable panics which5
seize a multitude falls upon the dense crowd; they cry out,
they rush on headlong; the weaker ones fall and the
frightened crowd tramples them down in its convulsive
struggles. Escaping from the confusion by a miracle, I
was hastening away when the cries of a perishing child 10
arrested me; I went back into that human chaos and
after unheard-of exertions I brought Paulette away at the
peril of my life.
That was two years ago; since then I had seen the child
only at long intervals and had almost forgotten her; but 15
Paulette had a grateful heart, and she came at the beginning
of the year to bring me her good wishes. She brought
me, too, a wallflower in full bloom; she herself had planted
and reared it; it was something that belonged wholly to
herself, for it was because of her care, her perseverance, 20
and her patience that it was hers.
The wallflower had grown in a common pot; but Paulette,
who is a bandbox maker, had put it into a case of
varnished paper ornamented with arabesques. These
might have been in better taste, but I felt the good will25
none the less.
This unexpected present, the little girl's modest blushes,
the compliments she stammered out, dispelled, as by a
sunbeam, the mist which had gathered round my heart;
my thoughts suddenly changed from the leaden tints of 30
evening to the rosiest colors of dawn. I made Paulette
sit down and questioned her with a light heart.
At first the little girl replied by monosyllables; but
very soon the tables were turned and it was I who interrupted
with short interjections her long confidences. The
poor child leads a hard life. She was left an orphan long
ago and with a brother and sister lives with an old grandmother, 5
who has brought them up to poverty, as she says.
However Paulette now helps her to make bandboxes, her
little sister Perrine begins to sew, and her brother Henri
is apprenticed to a printer. All would go well if it were not
for losses and want of work—if it were not for clothes which 10
wear out, for appetites which grow larger, and for the
winter, when you must buy your sunshine. Paulette complains
that candles go too quickly and that the wood costs
too much. The fireplace in their garret is so large that a
fagot produces no more effect than a match; it is so near15
the roof that the wind blows down the rain and in winter
it hails upon the hearth; so they have given up using it.
Henceforth they must be content with an earthen chafing
dish, upon which they cook their meals. The grandmother
had often spoken of a stove that was for sale at the huckster's 20
on the ground floor, but he asked seven francs for it
and the times are too hard for such an expense; the family,
therefore, resign themselves to cold for economy's sake!
As Paulette spoke I felt more and more that I was rising
above my low spirits. The first disclosures of the little25
bandbox maker created within me a wish that soon became
a plan. I questioned her about her daily occupations and
she told me that on leaving me she must go with her brother,
her sister, and her grandmother, to the different people for
whom they work. My plan was immediately settled. I 30
told the child that I would go to see her in the evening,
and I sent her away, thanking her anew.
I placed the wallflower in the open window, where a ray
of sunshine bade it welcome; the birds were singing around,
the sky had cleared, and the day which began so gloomily
had become bright. I sang as I moved about my room,
and having hastily got ready I went out. 5
Three o'clock.—All is settled with my neighbor, the
chimney doctor; he will repair my old stove, the old stove
which I had replaced, and promises to make it as good as
new. At five o'clock we are going to put it up in Paulette's
grandmother's room. 10