San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 84

"He was bound to give her a pretty cage, the villain!" thought Sans-Cravate, as he drew near to the house, "hoping that she would like it and keep quiet. Ah! he forgot that she had a brother, and that that brother is Sans-Cravate!"

The messenger rang at the gate, and a peasant girl answered the bell.

"Where is my sister? take me to my sister!" cried Sans-Cravate, pushing the girl roughly before him. She stared at him with a terrified expression; she thought that she had to do with a robber, and she was on the point of shrieking and calling for help. But Adeline had already appeared in the doorway, for, whenever the bell rang, she flattered herself that Albert had returned; she ran forward when she saw that it was a man; then fell into Sans-Cravate's arms, murmuring in a voice stifled by joy and tears:

"It is my brother! Oh! he will not abandon me!"

Sans-Cravate gazed at his sister, whose pale, thin face had undergone so great a change in two months that he would have hesitated before recognizing her.

Adeline led him into a room on the ground floor, and there, gazing at him anew, with her eyes full of tears, she said:

"You are angry with me, of course; the last time I saw you, you made me promise to wait for you, and, in spite of that, I went away. But he came back--and when he learned that I had found you, and that you had gone to beg his father to forgive us, he cried out that that was ridiculous, that his father would be furious, that he would separate us or prevent him from seeing me, and that there was nothing for us to do but leave Paris at once; I believed him--he urged me so hard--and I went with him.

We travelled a long time; I kept imploring him to write to you to find out if you had been successful with his father, but he told me we must wait. At last, about a week ago, he brought me here, to this house, told me that I should have everything I desired, left me a lot of money, and went away, saying that he would return soon; so I am always expecting him, and when you rang I thought it was he."

"Poor sister!" said Sans-Cravate, gazing mournfully at the girl, who tried to banish the traces of her tears with a smile; "you will wait for him in vain; he won't come back, the dastard! he has abandoned you, because he don't mean to repair his crime."

"O my G.o.d! can it be possible that Albert doesn't love me? It can't be true!"

"Oh! you had guessed it already, I am sure; your pale face, the terrible change in your features since our last meeting, your eyes all red from crying. Oh! you've been unhappy, you've been grieving a long time--that's easy to see."

"Well! yes, brother; I admit that I have noticed for some time that Albert was not so pleasant and loving with me; in fact, he no longer seemed happy, but I thought he was afraid of his father's anger."

"His father! why, he has consented to your marriage."

"Can that be true? what happiness!"

"No, no, my poor Liline, don't be happy too soon! for it is your seducer himself who refuses to wipe out his crime and make you his wife."

"He refuses--Albert! Oh! no, my dear brother, that is impossible; at all events, when he knows--and I haven't dared to tell him that yet--I hoped to make him very happy when he came back, with such a pleasant surprise--ah! brother, when he knows that I am going to be a mother, do you think he will refuse to give a name to his child?"

As she spoke, Adeline hid her face on her brother's shoulder, and he held her for a moment in his arms.

"A mother!" he murmured; "you, a mother! Ah! yes, he must be hard-hearted indeed to abandon you if that is so; and yet--the young men of these days care as little about leaving a poor girl in trouble as they do about changing a coat. Never mind; I'll see this gentleman, I'll speak to him, and, sacrebleu! if he has any decent feelings left, I'll rake 'em up from the bottom of his heart. But meanwhile you must go with me; we must start this very minute."

"I must leave here--but suppose Albert should come back?"

"Don't you be alarmed! he'll be in Paris before long, and Paris is where I'm going to take you. Remember that you must trust me, believe what I say, and obey me. You know perfectly well that I won't deceive you; you know that your happiness and the honor of our family are what I care most about."

"Oh! yes, I do know it, brother."

"Then do what I tell you. Make haste and get together what things belong to you. But leave all the money and jewels that man has given you; for we'll show him that he's mistaken if he thinks he can pay for your dishonor with them. If he deserts you, you will stay with me; I have strong arms, and I'm no longer the sot and loafer I used to be. No, no; I've had troubles of my own, you see; and trouble is like lead--it makes your head heavy. I'll tell you about it some day; meanwhile, I'll work to support you--and your child--and what I give you won't make you blush, at any rate. Go and do what I say, and be quick; there's a carriage waiting for us."

Adeline made no reply, but hastened to do her brother's bidding; she very soon got her things together and made a package of them, which Sans-Cravate took under one arm; he supported his sister with the other and said to the peasant, who stared at them with a stupefied expression:

"If the gentleman comes back and asks for the young lady he brought here, tell him that she went away with her brother--her brother, do you hear? As for her money and jewelry, he'll find them upstairs;--for you haven't taken any of 'em, have you, Liline?"

"No, brother," replied the girl, putting her hand to her breast; "nothing, except this little souvenir, with some of his hair in it."

As she spoke, she showed him a small gla.s.s locket, set in gold, in which there was a lock of hair. But Sans-Cravate put out his hand to take it, crying:

"No, no; keep nothing that came from him! What do you want of this souvenir?"

"Oh! brother, let me keep it, I beg you!" faltered the girl, falling on her knees; "for if he casts me off, it will be the only thing I shall have to give my child; he will have nothing else that belongs to his father!"

Sans-Cravate raised his sister, and turned his head aside so that she might not see the tears which he wiped away with his sleeve.

"All right! keep it," he said; "but let us go," and he led his sister away.

They soon reached the place where the carriage awaited them.

Sans-Cravate helped his sister in, took his place beside her, and said to the driver:

"Now for Paris, corner of Rue Saint-Lazare and Rue Saint-Georges; a magnificent house, between a fruiterer and a grocer. If you go fast, I'll pay for a good big drink for you."

It was dark, and the journey was melancholy enough; for the brother and sister, both of whom were suffering the same torments, did not choose to talk about them, each for fear of increasing the other's unhappiness.

They arrived at last; Sans-Cravate kept his promise to the driver, and would have given him money too; but he declined it, for he was paid in advance. He drove away with his carriage, and the messenger, taking his sister's hand, said to her:

"Follow me, and we'll climb up to my diggings. Look you: don't expect to find anything very fine, and you'll be less surprised."

Sans-Cravate's lodging would have made an excellent pendant for Bastringuette's: it was under the eaves, like hers, and consisted of a bedroom and a closet; there was just the same amount of furniture, not a piece more; yet there was a vast difference between them, and they had not the same aspect at all: Sans-Cravate's quarters were as dirty and disordered as the flower girl's were clean and neat.

Having procured a light, the messenger said to his sister, who was looking sadly about:

"_Dame!_ this is pretty bad, eh? you don't find any nice furniture here, like what your seducer gave you. But you're in your brother's room, and you can give your address without blushing."

"Mon Dieu! dear brother," replied the girl, seizing the messenger's hand, "you are mistaken if you think that I regret the luxurious life I have been leading. What do I care whether my furniture is walnut or mahogany? I never placed any value on that. Ah! the most beautiful apartment is the one to which one brings a joyful heart!"

"You are right, Liline. When the heart is satisfied, everything seems beautiful! But, still, it didn't use to be so bad here--because it was neat and clean and well dusted; there was a person who undertook to take care of my room, but--that person don't come any more, and since then I haven't had the heart to look after it--so it ain't surprising that it looks the way it does!"

"Well! I'll take that person's place, my dear, and you will see that I too know something about keeping house."

Sans-Cravate kissed his sister and installed her in his room; he gave her his bed, reserving for himself the closet, where he meant to throw a few bundles of straw on the floor; he was not hard to suit, and, so long as his sister could sleep tranquilly, he would be comfortable anywhere.

After a night which seemed very long to them both, because grief and anxiety banished sleep from their eyelids, Sans-Cravate left his closet on tiptoe and listened: his sister had fallen into a doze. He walked softly, in order not to rouse her, and placed on the table beside the bed all the money he possessed.

"There's enough for a little while," he thought; "our expenses won't be very large. I've put a few pieces away, thank G.o.d! since I've stopped going to the wine shop, and with Jean Ficelle; I'm mighty proud to have 'em to give her to-day. I'm beginning to think that it ain't the drinking men that have the most fun, but that the pleasures that work affords a man are the best and last the longest."

Sans-Cravate went to his usual place, where he sat down and waited.

"She promised to send me word," he said to himself, "as soon as he's back in Paris, and I'm sure she'll keep her word; for that woman looks to me like a hussy who has thought a long while about what she intended to do, and who won't falter on the road."

The day pa.s.sed, and brought no change in the situation of the messenger and his sister. After sawing a cord of wood and doing several errands, Sans-Cravate returned to his sister and gave her the money he had earned.

"Here," he said, "this is what I'll do every day, and you must look after the food."

"And Albert?" queried the girl, sadly.

"No news. Patience. We must wait."