For three whole days Marcel remained quietly with the Poquets, who would willingly have kept him altogether, and only hoped that Pelagie would let things be as they were. The fourth morning, however, brought a change. Scarcely had Madame Poquet taken herself and her great basket off for her day's work and pilfering, and M. Poquet slunk off a moment after to the cabaret at the corner, when Madame Vautrin appeared suddenly before the frightened eyes of the three children. She was sober, and in few words ordered Marcel to get his basket and hook and go to work. The trembling boy silently obeyed.
Chapter IV.
"Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.
Yet see how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate
And black misfortune's baleful train."
Gray.
But Polycarpe Poquet did not drop the acquaintance so well begun; far from it; he seemed to have become really attached to the pale, weak child, who was about a year younger than himself, and proved his friendship by becoming a kind of amateur rag-picker and helping to fill the dreadful basket and leathern bag that Pelagie exacted twice a day. This business finished, he would lead off Marcel in quest of amusement, with the understood intention also of picking up a few sous as he best could, and Polycarpe was not at all particular.
All was new to Marcel; he had never yet had time to stroll through the great thoroughfares at the hours when the magnificent shops of Paris display their wonderful merchandise to tempt the luxurious rich. He had not even ever crossed the bridges since that fatal 26th of June, 1848, and knew nothing of beautiful Paris but the narrow and busy streets of the "Quartier Latin," the quarter of the great schools, of the College of France, the Sorbonne, and the Institute.
How wonder-stricken was he the day that Polycarpe conducted him to the Place de la Concorde! The sky was blue, the sun bright, the two beautiful fountains were spouting their many waters in feathery spray, the grand old chestnut-trees of the Tuileries gardens were in full bloom behind him, palaces on either side of him, and before him stretched away the magnificent avenue of the Champs Elysées, bordered by trees and flowers and grassy lawns, and bounded in the far distance by the Arch of Triumph! The boy's heart swelled within him, for the love of the beautiful was hidden in it, as well as the sense of the good and true, and he could not speak. He had never gazed before on so brilliant a scene, and he could find no words to express his feelings.
Polycarpe understood nothing of this silent admiration, and after loitering a short time around some of the cafés among the trees in the avenue, proposed going down on the quay to look at the river. They stopped for a glass of brandy at the nearest cabaret—for Marcel had learnt this dreadful habit from his friend, who had been accustomed to tipple from his very birth—and then, ready for any mischief, descended to the river's side. An old lady was standing there, gazing at the swift-flowing water, as if she were longing to throw into it a very apoplectic-looking little dog she held by a string.
"Marcel, Marcel," whispered Polycarpe, "I'm going to have some fun with that old woman. I'll squeeze some sous out of her, you see if I don't!"
He started off running as he spoke, then suddenly stopped close to the dog.