Denise could think of no answer to make to the child; she sent him outside with his goat. On Père Calleux’s return, she obtained his permission to take Coco with her for a few days, and Coco took with him his darling goat, from which he refused to part.
Denise was anxious to keep the child with her; Mère Fourcy was kindhearted, and Denise showed her that as he grew up Coco would be of use to them, and that the money left by the gentleman from Paris would be more than sufficient to educate him. Père Calleux, who realized that his son could not make his soup, consented to leave him with Denise for the present, and the girl was overjoyed.
Behold, then, Coco a member of the little milkmaid’s family, and leading a pleasant life. Denise, who knew how to read,—not a rare accomplishment in our villages nowadays,—determined to educate her little protégé, and did not fail to speak to him every day of the handsome gentleman who had paid so generously for his bowl.
But another month passed, and the gentleman from Paris did not come again. Denise, who still loved to muse beneath the great oak, often said to herself:
“It was quite right to think that he didn’t mean a word of all those fine things he said to me. But, when he wasn’t coming back, it wasn’t worth while for that Monsieur Bertrand to say: ‘Look out for yourself!’”
VIII
A BACHELOR’S MORNING RECEPTION
“Is Auguste in, Monsieur Bertrand?” inquired a young woman of twenty-four, slender and graceful, with fine brown eyes, very black hair, pale complexion, white, even teeth, and a somewhat fatigued expression; a face, be it said, which was enlivened and made most attractive by a mischievous smile. This young woman was a certain Virginie, of whom mention was made in the cabriolet on the way to Monsieur Destival’s; she had just rung the bell at the door of Auguste’s apartment, although it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
“Monsieur Dalville has gone out,” replied Bertrand, with a very slight nod to Mademoiselle Virginie, which did not deter her from entering the apartment.
“That’s impossible, Bertrand; you say that because there’s somebody here, I suppose, and those are your orders. We know all about that. But I must see him; I have something very important to say to him. Really, my little Bertrand, I’m not joking.”
“I give you my word, mademoiselle, that Monsieur Dalville has gone out; or, rather, that he hasn’t come in. He went to a grand ball last night, and it seems to have lasted a long while.”