No wonder the name was bestowed upon her, for we could see that she was small, very small; and, from the diminutive size of her limbs, she seemed likely to remain so till the end of her days.
"Will you go home now?" asked the woman, after a moment's pause.
"No, not just yet," said the tiny being. "I have had no supper. I shall go to Emile, but Mouton may go home. Go!" she cried, imperiously, to the dog, as she swiftly slid off the marvellous dress and wig, out of which casing Mouton came forth an ordinary looking and decidedly dirty poodle. He hesitated for an instant, when she raised her little clenched fist, and shook it fiercely at him, repeating "Go!" in louder tones. He wagged his tail deprecatingly, licked his black lips, looked imploringly at her out of his loving eyes, and seemed to beg permission to remain with her; but in vain; then, seeing her endeavor to rise, he turned, fled up the street with the swiftness of a bird, and disappeared round the corner. His mistress, in the meantime, folded up the dog's finery carefully, and deposited it inside her own poor garments; then, after an instant's pause, she rose to her feet, and looked round at us. She was well named Poucette: in stature she did not exceed a child of four years old; but she was perfectly made, and the limbs were in excellent proportion with the stature, only her face showed age. There was a keen, worldly look about the mouth, with its thin scarlet lips; and a vindictive expression shining in the bold, black eyes—altogether a hard-looking face, not at all attractive in its character; and yet I felt myself drawn to the poor child.
She was evidently half-starved, fighting her own hard battle with the world, and keeping her struggle as much to herself as she could; and when, scanning curiously over the faces surrounding her, her eyes rested on mine, I stepped forward, and offered her a five-franc piece. To my surprise, she threw the money on the pavement [{263}] with the bitterest scorn. "I don't want money," she shrieked, passionately—"I want my supper. Go away, canaille!" I stooped down toward her, and took her hand. "Come with me," I said to her, "and you shall have some supper. I live close by." She stood on tiptoe even then, and peered into my face with her sharp eyes. Apparently, however, a short inspection satisfied her, for she said softly, "Thank you," and tried to hold my hand. Finding it too much for her small grasp, she clung to my trousers with one hand, and with the other she waved off the wondering bystanders with a most majestic air. I offered payment for the milk, which the good woman civilly refused; and then I sent for a fiacre in which to get to my lodgings in the Rue Rivoli, shrinking, I must confess, from the idea of the ridiculous figure I should cut walking along the streets with this absurd though unfortunate creature. Presently the concierge arrived with one, and we stepped in, Poucette entering majestically first. I gave the word, and we started. Hardly had we turned out of the street, when the impulsive child beside me seized me with both hands, and in an ecstacy of gratitude thanked me with streaming eyes for what I was doing for her. "I am starving," she sobbed—"I fainted from hunger. I have been dancing on the boulevards all day with Mouton, who is hungry, too, poor fellow, for he only ate a small bit of bread which a good little gentleman gave him this morning."
"Why did you not take the money, then?" I asked. "You might have bought food for yourself and Mouton."
"I did not want money," said the girl proudly—"I don't beg."
"But you say you are hungry."
"That is nothing. I never beg; I dance; and tonight, when I have had some supper, I shall dance for you, and you shall see," drawing herself up.
At this speech I hesitated. What in the world had I to do with a dancing-girl in my quiet bachelor rooms? Did she intend taking them by storm, and quartering herself upon me, whether I liked it or not? The question was a difficult one; but yet, when I looked down at the tiny figure, with its poor, woe-begone face, so thin and weary-looking, its utter weakness and dependence, I felt that, come what might, I could not act otherwise than I was doing. "There, go up stairs, au troisième" said I to my charge, as the fiacre stopped, and we got out; when lo! from behind a large stone close by the entrance to the porte-co-chère, the black round eyes of Mouton glanced furtively out upon us. His behavior was exceedingly reserved; he durst not even wag his tail for fear of giving offence, but he glanced at me in the meekest, humblest entreaty ever dog did. "Don't send him away," I said to Poucette: "take him up stairs with you; I wish him to remain."
She made no reply, but snapped her fingers encouragingly at him, and he followed her closely, as she walked up stairs. I paused a moment with the concierge, to ask her to provide some dinner for my unexpected guests; and then mounted the stairs after them. I found Antoinette Elizabeth and her faithful follower seated at my door, gravely awaiting my arrival. Mouton recognized me as a friend, and faintly wagged his tail; evidently he was careful, in the presence of his mistress, upon whom he bestowed his favors. We entered my room, all three of us; and presently the dinner arrived, and was done ample justice to. Poucette ate heartily, but not ravenously; and after the meal was over, we drew our chairs round the fire, and sat eating walnuts. She asked then, with more timidity than she had yet shown: "When shall we have the honor of dancing for monsieur?" raising her large black eyes, which had lost their fierce look, to my face.