“Well, I don’t see any harm in all that, my child.”
“But Madame Destival did, for she came up to me in a rage and called me——”
“She called you——?”
“Oh! I don’t want to repeat the horrid word.—Well! she called me a—a—hussy.”
“God in heaven! my niece, my Denise, a hussy! the virtuousest girl within ten leagues! And you didn’t jump at her face?”
“No, aunt; I just said that it was horrible to believe—to think—then I came home with my milk and my cheese.”
“You did right, my child, you did right; those folks don’t deserve to eat such good things.”
Denise did not tell her aunt what Madame Destival had said about her milk and cheese, because Mère Fourcy would be just the woman to go to the business agent and demand satisfaction for such an insult. The girl did not like quarrelling and she wished never to hear Madame Destival’s name again. Mère Fourcy went to the village to try to find customers for the milk and cheese. When she was alone, Denise took out the purse and counted its contents in her apron. There were twelve twenty-franc pieces, and six of five francs.
“Two hundred and seventy francs!” exclaimed Denise, throwing up her hands in amazement; “why, that’s quite a lot of money. That gentleman must be very rich to give away so much all at once. Perhaps I ought not to have taken it all. But still, as it’s for Coco—there’s enough to send him to school, to have him learn to read. Yes, but his father don’t want him to learn to read. That’s a pity, I should like so much to make Coco a gentlemanly, well-taught boy; it would please that gentleman when he comes back—for he’ll come to see his little boy; at least, he said he would. Never mind, I’ll be very careful of the money; and while I have the time, I think I’ll go to the cottage and see if they’ve done what that gentleman intended they should.”
By taking crossroads, one could go in a quarter of an hour from Montfermeil to the home of the Calleux family. Denise walked rapidly along the paths, which were well known to her. She entered the wretched hovel. Coco was seated at a table with old Madeleine. They were dining without Père Calleux, who, finding himself in funds, preferred the wine-shop to his house.