Perhaps the visit of a venerable ecclesiastic who had come to examine the working-system of the colony might be taken as the turning-point in Polycarpe's conduct, though not the real date of his improvement, as we shall see hereafter. The good Abbé had been questioning the boys of Marcel and Polycarpe's family, when he suddenly requested them to tell him which were the three best lads among them. Need we say that our poor orphan was one of those who were instantly, and without hesitation, pointed out by their comrades?
"And the worst?" asked the abbé again.
Every eye remained fixed, immovable; every tongue silent. All at once Polycarpe stepped forward and said in a low but clear voice,
"'Tis I!"
"My boy!" exclaimed the worthy priest, as he clasped the young convict's hand in both of his, "I cannot believe it! I will not take even your word for it! This very acknowledgment proves that you are mistaken."
Polycarpe never from that day forth wore the ignominious mark of punishment, the ugly black gaiter on the left leg.
His progress in learning was slow, compared with that of Marcel; but he was an adept in the house-duties, which were performed by each family of boys in turns of a week at a time. He was skilled in sweeping and dusting, washing dishes and cleaning knives. He was the aptest pupil, too, that ever studied the culinary art, and, after a time, was wont to boast that he could dish up a savory dinner there where a less gifted individual could find nothing to eat. Not that Mettray could be considered as one of the best schools for learners, nor its wholesome dinners as specimens of the world-famed French cookery; for they consisted of vegetables entirely, with the exception of twice in the week, when bacon and beef figured on the tables; but Polycarpe felt that he had natural abilities, and could do more than was required of him in the simple kitchen where he practised. He was quite a favorite with the good Sisters who presided there; they were always glad when it was his week to assist them, and praised him constantly for his activity, good temper, and disposition to oblige.
But if Polycarpe was useful in the kitchen, he was invaluable in the infirmary. A handier fellow for helping the suffering never entered a sick-room. He was quick-eyed and light-fingered, (in the good sense of the word;) he saw in a moment how best to arrange the pillows for the weary, feverish head; he could dress a blister without drawing a single exclamation from the patient; he could make palatable gruel and ptisan; he was punctual in administering the potions, and, though last not least of his good qualities, he was wakeful and, at the same time, good-tempered and cheerful. The kind Hospital Sisters, who had charge of the infirmary, pronounced him the best of nurses, and would have rejoiced could they always have had him with them.
The very first week that he was on duty there, a poor boy, who had only been a month in the establishment, died of the disease whose germs he had brought with him. Polycarpe watched over him with the tenderest care, and the child became gratefully attached to him, and talked much to him of his past life—a short but sad one. His father, he said, was in the galleys for life; his mother in the hospital at Tours; his two elder sisters in prison for theft; his young brother, a miserable deformed child, was a street-beggar; and he knew not what had become of his little sister of six years old! The poor fellow loved this little sister with all the concentrated strength of a heart that had had but few objects to love, and he cried as he spoke of her.