Nobody's Girl Part 9

"When I ... am gone ... there will be things for you to do. In my pocket you will find a large envelope which contains my marriage certificate.

The certificate bears my name and your father's. You will be asked to show it, but make them give it back to you. You might need it later on to prove your parentage. Take great care of it, dear. However, you might lose it, so I want you to learn it by heart, so that you will never forget it. Then, when a day comes and you need it, you must get another copy. You understand? Remember all that I tell you."

"Yes, mama; yes."

"You will be very unhappy, but you must not give way to despair. When you have nothing more to do in Paris ... when you are left alone ...

then you must go off at once to Maraucourt ... by train if you have enough money ... on foot, if you have not. Better to sleep by the roadside and have nothing to eat than to stay in Paris. You promise to leave Paris at once, Perrine?"

"I promise, mama," sobbed the little girl.

The sick woman made a sign that she wanted to say more, but that she must rest for a moment. Little Perrine waited, her eyes fixed on her mother's face.

"You will go to Maraucourt?" said the dying woman after a few moments had pa.s.sed. "You have no right to claim anything ... what you get must be for yourself alone ... be good, and make yourself loved. All is there ... for you. I have hope ... you will be loved for yourself ... they cannot help loving you ... and then your troubles will be over, my darling."

She clasped her hands in prayer. Then a look of heavenly rapture came over her face.

"I see," she cried; "I see ... my darling will be loved! She will be happy ... she will be cared for. I can die in peace now with this thought ... Perrine, my Perrine, keep a place in your heart for me always, child...."

These words, which seemed like an exaltation to Heaven, had exhausted her; she sank back on the mattress and sighed. Perrine waited ...

waited. Her mother did not speak. She was dead. Then the child left the bedside and went out of the house. In the field she threw herself down on the gra.s.s and broke into sobs. It seemed as though her little heart would break.

It was a long time before she could calm herself. Then her breath came in hiccoughs. Vaguely she thought that she ought not to leave her mother alone. Someone should watch over her.

The field was now filled with shadows; the night was falling. She wandered about, not knowing where she went, still sobbing.

She pa.s.sed the wagon for the tenth time. The candy man, who had watched her come out of the house, went towards her with two sugar sticks in his hand.

"Poor little girl," he said, pityingly.

"Oh!..." she sobbed.

"There, there! Take these," he said, offering her the candy. "Sweetness is good for sorrow."

CHAPTER IV

A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL

The last prayers had been uttered. Perrine still stood before the grave.

The Baroness, who had not left her, gently took her arm.

"Come," she said; "you must come away," she added more firmly as Perrine attempted to resist her.

Holding her tightly by the arm, she drew her away. They walked on for some moments, Perrine not knowing what was pa.s.sing around her, nor understanding where they were leading her. Her thoughts, her spirit, her heart, were with her mother.

At last they stopped in one of the side paths; then she saw standing round her the Baroness, who had now let go of her arm, Grain-of-Salt and the candy man, but she saw them only vaguely. The Baroness had black ribbons on her bonnet; Grain-of-Salt was dressed like a gentleman and wore a high silk hat; Carp had replaced his leather ap.r.o.n by a black Prince Albert which came down to his feet, and the candy man had cast aside his white blouse for a cloth coat. For, like the real Parisian who practises the cult of the dead, they had dressed themselves up in their best to pay respect to the one they had just buried.

"I want to tell you, little one," commenced Grain-of-Salt, who thought that he should speak first, being the most important person present; "I want to tell you that you can stay as long as you like in Guillot Fields without paying."

"If you'd like to sing with me," said the Baroness, "you can earn enough to live on. It's a nice profession."

"If you'd like to go into the candy business, I'll teach you; that's a real trade and a nice one," said the candy man.

Carp said nothing, but with a smile and a gesture he let her understand that she could always find a bowl of soup at his place ... and good soup, too!

Perrine's eyes filled with fresh tears, soft tears which washed away the bitterness of the burning ones which for two days had flowed from her eyes.

"How good you all are to me," she murmured.

"One does what one can," said Grain-of-Salt.

"One should not leave an honest little girl like you on the streets of Paris," said the Baroness.

"I must not stay in Paris," replied Perrine; "I must go at once to my relations."

"You have relations?" exclaimed Grain-of-Salt, looking at the others with an air which said that he did not think that those relations could be worth much. "Where are your relations?"

"Near Amiens."

"And how can you go to Amiens? Have you got money?"

"Not enough to take the train, but I'm going to walk there."

"Do you know the way?"

"I have a map in my pocket...."

"Yes, but does that tell you which road you have to take from here, here in Paris?"

"No, but if you will tell me...."

They all were eager to give her this information, but it was all so confused and contradictory that Grain-of-Salt cut the talk short.

"If you want to lose yourself in Paris, just listen to what they are saying," he said. "Now, this is the way you must go," and he explained to her which road she should take. "Now, when do you want to go?"

"At once; I promised my mother," said Perrine.

"You must obey her," said the Baroness, solemnly, "but not before I've kissed you; you're a good girl."

The men shook hands with her.

She knew she must leave the cemetery, yet she hesitated and turned once more towards the grave that she had just left, but the Baroness stopped her.

"As you are obliged to go, go at once; it is best," she said.

"Yes, go," said Grain-of-Salt.