Nobody's Girl Part 54

The same voice spoke:

"Get into bed, La Noyelle. How late you are."

This time M. Vulfran clasped Perrine's hand in a sign for them to leave the place.

She opened the door and they went down, while a murmur of voices accompanied them. When they reached the street M. Vulfran spoke: "You wanted me to know what that room was the first night when you slept there?"

"I wanted you to know what kind of a place all the women who work for you have to sleep in. They are all alike in Maraucourt and the other villages. You have stood in one of these dreadful rooms; all the others are like it. Think of your women and children, your factory hands, who are breathing that poisoned air. They are slowly dying. They are almost all weak and sick."

M. Vulfran was silent. He did not speak again, neither did Perrine. When they entered the hall he bade her good night, and guided by Bastien, he went to his own room.

CHAPTER x.x.x

GRANDFATHER FINDS PERRINE

One year had pa.s.sed since Perrine had arrived at Maraucourt on that radiant Sunday morning. What a miserable lonely little girl she had been then.

The day was just as radiant now, but what a change in Perrine, and, be it said, in the whole village also. She was now a lovely girl of fifteen. She knew she was loved and loved for herself, and this is what gave the deep look of happiness to her eyes.

And the village! No one would have recognized it now. There were new buildings, pretty cottages, and a hospital commanding a view of the surrounding country. Near the factories were two handsome red brick buildings. These were the creches where the little children, whose mothers were working in the factories, were kept. All the little children had their meals there, and many of them slept there. It was a home for them.

M. Vulfran had bought up all the old houses, the tumble-down hovels and huts, and had built new cottages in their places. There was a large restaurant built where the men and women could get a dinner for eleven cents, the meal consisting of a soup, stew or roast, bread and cider.

Every little cottage, for which the tenant paid one hundred francs a year, had its own tiny garden in which to grow vegetables for the family.

In the road leading to the chateau there was now a fine recreation ground, which was greatly patronized after the factories had closed.

There were merry-go-rounds, swings, bowling alleys and a stand for the musicians who played every Sat.u.r.day and Sunday, and of course on every holiday. This public park of amus.e.m.e.nt was used by the people of all five villages. Monsieur Vulfran had thought it better to have one place of reunion and recreation. If his people all met together to enjoy their leisure hours, it would establish good relations and a bond of friendship between them. At the end of the grounds there was a fine library with a reading and writing room.

M. Vulfran's relations thought that he had gone mad. Did he intend to ruin himself? That is to say, ruin them? Some steps ought to be taken to prevent him from spending his fortune in this manner. His fondness for that girl was a proof that he was losing his mind. That girl did not know what she was doing! All their animosity was centered on her. What did it matter to her that his fortune was being thrown away? But if Perrine had all the relations against her, she knew that she had M.

Vulfran's friendship, and the family doctor, Doctor Ruchon, Mlle.

Belhomme and Fabry all adored her. Since the doctor had seen that it was the "little girl" who had been the means of his patient exerting this wonderful moral and intellectual energy, his att.i.tude to her expressed the greatest respect and affection. In the doctor's eyes, Perrine was a wonderful little girl.

"She can do a great deal more than I can," he said, shaking his gray head.

And Mlle. Belhomme, how proud she was of her pupil! As to Fabry, he was on the best of terms with her. He had been so closely connected with her in the good work that had been done, for Fabry had superintended everything.

It was half-past twelve. Fabry had not yet arrived. M. Vulfran, usually so calm, was getting impatient. Luncheon was over and he had gone into his study with Perrine; every now and again he walked to the window and listened.

"The train must be late," he murmured.

Perrine wanted to keep him away from the window, for there were many things going on outside in the park about which she did not wish him to know. With unusual activity, the gardeners were putting great pots of flowers on the steps and in front of the house. Flags were flying from the recreation grounds, which could be seen from the windows.

At last the wheels of a carriage were heard on the drive.

"There's Fabry," said M. Vulfran. His voice expressed anxiety, but pleasure at the same time.

Fabry came in quickly. He also appeared to be in a somewhat excited state. He gave a look at Perrine which made her feel uneasy without knowing why.

"I got your telegram," said M. Vulfran, "but it was so vague. I want to be sure. Speak out."

"Shall I speak before mademoiselle?" asked Fabry, glancing at Perrine.

"Yes, if it is as you say."

It was the first time that Fabry had asked if he could speak before Perrine. In the state of mind in which she was suddenly thrown, this precaution only made her the more anxious.

"The person whom we had lost trace of," said Fabry, without looking at Perrine, "came on to Paris. There she died. Here is a copy of the death certificate. It is in the name of Marie Doressany, widow of Edmond Vulfran Paindavoine."

With trembling hands the blind man took the paper.

"Shall I read it to you?" asked Fabry.

"No, if you have verified the names we will attend to that later. Go on."

"I not only got the certificate; I wanted to question the man whom they call Grain-of-Salt. She died in a room in his house. Then I saw all those who were present at the poor woman's funeral. There was a street singer called the Baroness and an old shoemaker called Carp. It was the miserable existence which she had been forced to live that had finally killed her. I even saw the doctor who attended her, Dr. Cendrier. He wanted her to go to the hospital, but she would not be parted from her daughter. Finally, to complete my investigations, they sent me to a woman who buys rags and bones. Her name is La Rouquerie. I could not see her until yesterday, as she had been out in the country."

Fabry paused. Then for the first time he turned to Perrine and bowed respectfully.

"I saw Palikare, mademoiselle," he said. "He is looking very well."

Perrine had risen to her feet. For some moments she stood listening, dazed. Then her eyes filled with tears.

"I then had to find out what had become of the little daughter,"

continued Fabry. "This ragpicker told me that she had met her in the Chantilly woods and that she was dying of hunger. It was her own donkey that she sold to the ragpicker who found her."

"Tell me," cried M. Vulfran, turning his sightless eyes towards Perrine, who was trembling from head to foot, "why this little girl did not say who she was? You understand how deeply a little girl can feel, so can you explain this?"

Perrine took a few steps towards him.

"Tell me why she does not come into my arms ... her grandfather's arms."

"Oh, grandpapa," cried Perrine, throwing her arms about his neck.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE GRATEFUL PEOPLE

Fabry had left the room, leaving the grandfather and his granddaughter together. For a long time the old man and the girl sat with their arms about each other. They only spoke now and again, just to exchange a word of affection.

"My little granddaughter ... my boy's little girl," murmured the blind man, stroking her curls.