“Wait a moment,” she said, as she saw me about to sit upon the doorstep, which was rather dusty, but which I preferred to a seat inside, because it was in the open air.
Bringing a broom, she swept the step clean, and, taking off her apron, folded it and laid it down for a cushion for Mary and me, while she took a seat inside the door. Mary was nearly in a state of collapse with fright, and did not refuse a drink of the vodka a woman offered her in a broken cup. The strong liquor, which nearly strangled her, did her good, for she sat up in a moment and began to pull her dress away from contact with those near her.
Chance had stretched himself at my feet, but his head was up and alert, as if scenting mischief. Evidently he did not like the neighborhood, for he looked at me occasionally, as if asking why I was here, and why I did not leave. Several children gathered round him, timidly at first; then, as they gained courage, putting their little, dirty hands on his shaggy side, and calling him Chance, and a good dog, to which attention he responded rather indifferently, with a whack or two of his bushy tail.
“Do they all know him?” I asked, in some surprise, and forgetting that they had heard me call his name.
“Oh, yes,” the woman answered. “We all know Michel Seguin’s dog—a better detective, they say, than his master, if he chooses to use him, which he not often does.”
The policeman now came up, and began to question the crowd as to the recent disturbance. At sight of him, the children drew back and huddled closely together, but the women stood their ground, and began to tell the story, but shielded the thief as much as possible. A man had snatched at madame’s purse, and she had set the dog on him, was the amount of information, until a child called out, in a little piping voice, as she pointed toward me:
“Ask her. She talks our way.”
Scanning me very closely, as if I had been some rare curiosity, the man said: “You are the American madame who speaks our language so well?”
I did not like his face or his manner. He was brusque and rough, and different from any gendarme with whom I had come in contact, but I replied that I was from America, and could speak his language.
“Tell me, then,” he said, “the right of this row. I can make nothing from the jargon of these cattle, who evidently wish to shield their friend.”