“Some other time will do,” retorted the fat pastry cook.
“Madame Michel wished the change,” replied Péron stubbornly; “that is why she gave me a livre.”
“Mon Dieu!” cried Archambault, beside himself with impatience, “quick, Gaspard, the change; this child would wait for change if he bought his own coffin!”
And it was not until this business had been transacted to Péron’s satisfaction that he was willing to go out at the door which had been opened for his convenience. But after the livre had been changed he stepped out into the street, closely followed by the pastry cook. There was no one in sight, and Archambault laid his hand on the child’s shoulder.
“Now mind you, Péron,” he said, with emphasis, “run down to the Rue St. Honoré and so to the shop. No time to dream now, no dallying,—vite!” and he clapped his fat hands and laughed a little as the boy ran off in the direction that he indicated.
He watched until the lad was out of sight and then returned to his business with evident relief. He did not know how anxious Péron was to be at home or what a horror he had conceived of the pastry shop.
The child ran the whole distance and arrived so out of breath that Madame Michel marvelled and scolded while she counted the change. She found one more pie than had been paid for, which she however supposed to be intended as the messenger’s perquisite, and so set her mind at rest. Her conscience permitted an increase in the amount received more readily than a decrease in the returns from her livre. Being satisfied with the results of Péron’s shopping, she did not pursue her inquiries and remained ignorant of the scene of which he had been the hero.
CHAPTER V
THE CHÂTEAU DE NANÇAY
IT was not until Péron was ten years old that he made a journey outside the gates of Paris. Jacques des Horloges was accustomed to go from one grand house to another, to regulate and mend the great clocks, for his skill was held in high esteem, and such errands frequently took him beyond the city limits. But he had never taken the boy with him until one day, as he was setting out, Péron begged so hard to be allowed to accompany him that he consented. The stout Norman horse which Jacques always rode stood saddled at the door, and the clockmaker had just finished packing his saddle-bags when the child ran out, eager and importunate for the privilege of a ride beyond the gates. Michel listened to the petitioner with some amusement and a good deal of doubt. He stood hesitating, his hand on the saddle and his eyes on the pleading face. He was wavering between a desire to gratify the boy and a doubt of the wisdom of yielding to persuasion; and while he was still undecided his wife came to the door.
“Péron wants to go,” he said, smiling, “and I have the mind to take him, only”—he paused, still looking at the child—“I am going to Poissy and beyond.”