Tales from Many Sources Part 28

"Not tonight, not to-night, my child. As you go out beg for a bit of bread from M. Plon, he is in a splendid temper, and will not refuse it.

There make haste, go!"

She took her by the shoulders and pushed her towards the door, but when she left her outside, kissed her.

PART II.

Perine had no sooner gone than Jean came out and flung himself angrily on a chair.

"I shall stand this no longer. I give you notice of my determination, Marie. You have her here, I believe, solely to torment me. Figure to yourself having to stand by helpless, and see the creature put an end to both one's dinner and one's pipe! She is not to come here any more, those are my orders. Do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear," said Marie quietly, "but I beg of you to change your mind. We are badly off, I allow, yet somehow or other we can always rub along, and this poor child is in worse plight than we are."

"Worse? Nonsense. No one can be worse off than I am. Denounced, executed, for I a.s.sure you I felt that bullet go through my brain, saved just by the hair of my head--"

"Such a mercy!" breathed the wife.

"A mercy, yes--but you who can go and come and amuse yourself, never think what this life must be to me, cooped up like a rat in his hole.

There are times when I believe I should do better to give myself up."

"For the sake of Heaven, Jean--!"

"At any rate," said Jean, descending from his heights, "I will not have that _imbecile_ here. You understand?"

Marie looked at him indulgently. "Yes, my friend, I understand."

"I'll lay a wager you never got that journal from old Plon-Plon?"

"He had not finished with it."

"Of course not. Then I shall go to sleep, for there is nothing else for me to do."

He flung a handkerchief over his eyes as he spoke, put his feet on Perine's stool, and his elbow on the table. Marie moved quietly about, set the saucepan again on the stove, and taking some needlework from a box, sat down near her husband, st.i.tching rapidly. Every now and then she glanced at him, and her mind was tenderly busy over his concerns all the while, so that tears would have stood in her eyes if they had not had other work to do.

"How sad the poor fellow looks!" she thought. "I'm glad he's asleep, after that unfortunate affair with the pipe. When I remember how hard it is to get tobacco for him, for I am dreadfully afraid that some one will suspect me when I ask for it, I must own that Perine is an unlucky child. But as for her not coming again, he doesn't mean that, no, no--he's so kind hearted that he would be the last to keep her away; besides, I know very well that while he grumbles he feels an interest in hearing her do those wonderful sums. Anything is better for him than seeing no one but stupid me from year's end to year's end--my poor Jean!

Three years! I declare it quite hurts me to go out and about, though to be sure I must. But it seems so selfish."

There is no knowing to what depths of accusing wickedness Madame Didier's meditations would have led her, but that presently she heard a heavy creaking step upon the stairs; and flew to awake her husband and to hustle him into his refuge. M. Plon's visits were rare, and she discouraged them with all her might, yet when he arrived panting and puffing at the door, she was standing by the stove working, with a little coquettish air of greeting about her.

"You don't mean to say that you have brought the journal yourself, M.

Plon! Now that is kind of you, but it is disarranging yourself too much to climb up those steep stairs, when I could have fetched it with pleasure."

"Ugh, ugh, they are steep, there's no denying it," said Plon, sinking into the rickety chair. "But what would you have? Up here on the sixth, you can't expect all the luxuries of the first or second."

"Heavens, no!"

"You should cultivate a contented frame of mind. Madame Didier, and beware of grumbling."

"Was I grumbling?"

"You were complaining--complaining of the stairs, and it is a pernicious habit. Don't encourage it."

"But, indeed--" Marie was beginning with a smile, when he interrupted her with a majestic wave of his hand.

"_Halte la_! Now you are contradicting, and that is another bad habit, particularly for a woman. But n.o.body knows when they are well off in these days. I often say to my friends: 'There is Madame Didier, she lives in that nice airy attic of ours; she has no one to think of but herself, no cares, no responsibilities; she ought to be as happy as a bird.' Look at me, I entreat you; what a contrast! At everybody's beck and call, cooped up in a draughty little den, making shoes with a thousand interruptions. I ask you what sort of a life is that for a man of my stamp? If you were to try it for a week, you'd find out whether you were not a lucky woman! But, there, as I said before, n.o.body ever knows when they are well off--not even widows. I say all this because I take a real interest in you."

"I know you do, M. Plon, if only for the sake of my poor husband," said Marie demurely. To say the truth she was often in a state of uncomfortable doubt as to whether M. Plon's interest might not be going to take a warmer form, in which case it might be more difficult than ever for Jean to forget that he was no longer in the land of the living.

"But I must say I don't think you are the best of managers," said M.

Plon with a magisterial sweep of his hand which took in all the poor surroundings. "With your earnings you might do better than you do, Madame Didier. One mouth to feed, one person to dress--"

"There is Perine," faltered poor Marie.

"Yes, there is Perine, and it is true those imbeciles have appet.i.tes like wolves. Still--well, well, you must not suppose that I am blaming you; on the contrary, it might surprise you to hear--"

M. Plon was edging his chair a little nearer to Madame Didier, and she thought it was time to interrupt his explanation, so she said briskly:

"Ah, by the way, what news is there to-day in _Le Pet.i.t Journal?_"

"There is the great robbery."

"The great robbery! Where?"

"In the Rue Vivienne. The paper is full of it--jewellery, diamonds, plate, treasures of all kinds carried off, chest and all, that's the wonderful part of it, for a chest is not a thing to hide in your pocket."

"And have they no clue?" asked Marie, much interested.

"Not yet, but there must have been a cart or a cab, or some vehicle in the affair. It is clear enough that this belongs to the _haute pegre_, none of your common burglars would have attempted such a daring stroke; and I would lay a wager, too, that they're not so far off from here, if they're in Paris, that is. I shall keep a sharp look-out, for the reward is fabulous."

"Really!" said Madame Didier with a sigh.

"One would suppose you wanted it yourself," said Plon angrily. "Now what possible good could it do to you? It is extraordinary that people--women especially--can't be contented, but must always be wishing for what they haven't got."

"I was only thinking," Marie answered apologetically.

"Then don't think. Women should leave that to others," Having delivered which sententious maxim, M. Plon rose with some difficulty from his chair, and gazed round the room. It was a habit of his, but it always frightened Marie, and it frightened her yet more when he turned towards the recess and stood contemplating the curtains. "You keep those so tightly drawn one would--Eh! what's the matter!"

For Madame Didier, stooping over the stove, had uttered a sharp feminine shriek.

"I have burnt my finger?" she exclaimed, wringing her hand.

"That comes of thinking. Does it hurt?"

"Hurt! Of course it does."