All this while le Bossu was trudging along the white road. He met many country people now, bringing their vegetables and poultry to town, and more than once he was saluted with the mocking cry, “Petit Bossu!� He kept steadily on, however, taking no heed, his face pale from the exertion, or the repression of his natural temper, which resented insults and injury more keenly than most people of his condition, in an age when the poor were as the beasts of the field to the upper classes. Many thoughts were passing in the hunchback’s mind, but he dwelt most upon the little blue slippers, and when he did, his brown eyes softened, the drawn expression on his thin face relaxed.
“The bon Dieu bless her,� he murmured; “to her I am not the hunchback or the cobbler—to her I am poor Charlot, her humble friend. Ciel! I would die for mademoiselle.�
He toiled slowly on; passing the village of St. Césaire, he turned sharply to the north, and walking through a grove of olive trees, came in sight of a château that nestled on the crest of a little eminence looking west toward the Vaunage. The sun shone on its white walls and sloping roof, and sparkled on its window panes. The building was not large, and it had a long, low wing at one side, the whole thrown into sharp relief by its background of mulberry trees. The house was partially closed, the wing showing green-shuttered windows, but the main part was evidently occupied. On the southern side was the garden, with high hedges of box, and toward this the cobbler turned his steps. As he approached the wicket-gate, which was set in a lofty part of the hedge, a dog began to bark furiously, and a black poodle dashed toward him as he entered, but recognizing the visitor, she ceased barking and greeted le Bossu with every demonstration of friendship.
“Ah, Truffe,� said the cobbler, gently, “where is your mistress? I have brought her the blue slippers at last.�
As if she understood the question, the poodle turned and, wagging her tail, led the way back between two rows of box toward the centre of the garden. The dog and the cobbler came out into an open circle well planted with rose bushes, that grew in wild profusion around the old sundial. Here were white roses and pink, yellow and red, large and small; and sweet and fragile they looked in the old garden, which was but poorly kept despite the neat hedges. On a rustic seat in the midst of the flowers sat a young girl, the sun shining on her fair hair, and tingeing with brown the red and white of her complexion. Her face and figure were charming, and she had almost the air of a child, dressed as she was in white, her flaxen hair falling in two long braids over her shoulders.
The dog began to bark again at the sight of her, running to her and back to the hunchback to announce the arrival of a friend. She looked up with a bright smile as the cobbler lifted his cap and laid down the green bag on the seat at her side.
“Ah, Charlot, you have my slippers at last,� she exclaimed gayly, her blue eyes full of kindness as she greeted her humble visitor.
“I have them, Mademoiselle Rosaline,� he replied, his worn face lighting up, “and they are almost worthy of the feet that will wear them.�
“Almost!� laughed mademoiselle, “you are a born courtier, Charlot—oh, what dears!�
Le Bossu had opened his bag and drawn out the blue slippers, holding them up for her admiration.