In exitu Israel

by S. Baring-Gould

'Why, to Versailles, on foot, at this time of night. Did you ever hear anything more absurd, and the country so disturbed? Said I to her, You cannot walk it—you must know she is quite a stranger in these parts, and knows no more the way to Versailles than she does to Strasbourg. If you will wait till to-morrow morning, I told her, I will send Klaus with you—Klaus is my son—you hear him in his workshop muttering his prayers. He is a pious fool. But that, again, is neither here nor there. Well, gentlemen, I said to the girl Gabrielle, If you will go, stop the night at Sèvres. There is a nice little inn there, the "Golden Goose,"—do you know it, gentlemen? It is kept by M. Touche Gripé; he married my cousin, as pretty a girl as you ever set eyes on, but she has grown fat—and he sells good wine, at moderate rate.'

'Will you be so good, madame, as to let me know when the girl left here?'

'At five. Curiously enough, I know the time to the minute, for I was so provoked with her for her obstinacy, that I accompanied her to the Celestins, scolding and entreating alternately; and when I turned back, there was a clock in a watchmaker's shop window at the corner struck the hour. You may have noticed the clock; it is ingenious, there is a door above it, and a cuckoo comes out and sings. I stood and listened to the bird. It was droll. The cuckoo threw open its little door, and walked out, opened its yellow beak, bowed and said, "Cuckoo!" Mon Dieu! I laughed. It went just so—' she bent her body, opened her mouth, and called 'Cuckoo!'

It was impossible for the officers to restrain their laughter.

'Well!' continued madame, 'five times did that absurd creature bow and call. Once more, and I should have died, positively died of laughter.'

'Excuse me, madame,' said one of the gendarmes, 'how was the girl dressed?'

'She wanted to see the queen,' answered the little lady, 'and nothing would do for her but to borrow some of Madeleine's smart clothes. She has dressed herself in a faded rose-coloured silk, and wears a tiny cap with blue ribands on her head. You cannot mistake the dress. It was mine in the dear old times when I was a young bride. Ah! those were times. I made my good man,—I can tell you, he was flesh and blood, and not wood and clock-work,—I made him buy it for me. Oh! how I have danced in that pink silk. It is looped at the sides with rose-coloured bows and some gold thread. When Madeleine,—that is my daughter,—became old enough to wear it, I made it over to her. And now that rogue of a Gabrielle André has wheedled her out of it, that she may appear grand before the queen. My idea is that she will not get into her majesty's presence. What is your opinion, gentlemen?'

'You must allow us to search the house,' said one of the gendarmes, looking first at madame, and then at the corporal.

'By all means,' answered the little woman; 'let me show you the way. Corporal! you need not follow; you can go back to your prayers; I know that your heart is far away, saying "Bitte für uns" to old fusty, beer-drinking, snuff-taking, tobacco-smoking, hawking, spitting Bruder Klaus.' Then, drawing up close to the officers, she said: 'You don't know what it is to be married to a man who is a Jacquemart. Listen! do you hear his son? My husband, as you see by his uniform, is a Swiss, but mind! I am a French woman. Come along, you shall see all!' Then, throwing open the door of the work-room, she said: 'Pray look in at that precious boy Klaus at his prayers. He is a carver of saints; and he is not a poor hand. Some of his images are quite life-like. There is a S. Christopher; there, in the niche, his patroness, S. Généviève; there, a snuffy old hermit, Bruder Klaus. But come along, there is nothing there.'