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  FRAN?OU.

  As Madame d'Inville was one day walking along the Boulevard,accompanied by her grandson Eug?ne, and her granddaughter M?lanie,they saw a concourse of people collected, in the form of a circle,around one of those men who perform difficult and perilous feats. Hehad with him a little girl, dressed partly as a boy and partly as agirl. Her hair was arranged in female fashion, as was the upper partof her dress, but the lower part terminated in trousers. This littlegirl was walking upon her hands, with her head downwards, and herfeet in the air, and performing a variety of tricks, which amusedthe children very much, so that Madame d'Inville was kind enough tostop and look at them for some time. At length, after giving themsome money, she went away. It was not that Madame d'Inville felt muchpleasure in giving to persons who follow useless occupations; but asher grandchildren had been much amused, she thought it but right topay for the pleasure they had received.

  As they were walking along, M?lanie expressed her admiration of thedress of the little girl, all covered with spangles and chains ofdifferent colours. Eug?ne remarked that it was all dirty and torn,and that most of the things she saw glittering were nothing more thanstrips of gilt paper. Nevertheless, M?lanie appeared to be so dazzledwith this costume, that her grandmamma jestingly proposed that sheshould go and take the little girl's place. M?lanie exclaimed againstthis, and Eug?ne said, "Probably M?lanie would not mind being beaten,as perhaps that poor little thing is every morning, before putting onher beautiful dress."

  "And why beaten?" asked M?lanie.

  "To make her work. You saw the other day that man who was making thedogs dance, and you remember how sorry you were when he beat one ofthem, because he would not make a bow in the minuet. Well, it must bepretty nearly the same thing in the present case."

  "It is quite bad enough to beat a dog," said M?lanie. "I hope peopledon't beat their children in the same way."

  "Perhaps the little girl," continued Madame d'Inville, "does notbelong to this mountebank. Sometimes poor people, not being able tomaintain their children, confide them to the first person who willtake charge of them, and who hopes to gain something by making themwork. These poor children, removed from their parents, learn nothinggood, and are often unhappy. I knew one...."

  "You knew one, dear grandmamma!" cried both the children at once.

  "It was a little girl," said Madame d'Inville, "who was taken awayfrom her native province by a fortune-teller; she was in danger ofperishing of hunger, and of being crippled, and what is much worse,she ran the risk of becoming a thief."

  "Oh! dear! how much I should like to know her history!" said M?lanie.As they had reached the Champs-Elys?es, Madame d'Inville sat down,the two children seated themselves on the stool which she put underher feet, and, holding each other round the neck, to avoid falling,they listened to the history of Fran?ou.

  Fran?ou, whose real name was Fran?oise, had lost her parents beforeshe was five years old. They were so poor, that they had left nothingwhatever for the maintenance of their child, and Fran?oise was placedwith her uncle, her father's brother, who being himself very poor andhaving lost his wife, found it quite difficult enough to provide forthe two little boys which she had left him, without the additionalcharge of a little girl. While he was grieving over this matter,there came into the village in which he lived a man named Jacques,whom he knew from having worked with him at the harvest, during theprevious year.

  Jacques was a native of _Auvergne_, and a long way from his ownprovince, for what was formerly called Auvergne, is, as you remember,Eug?ne, that part of the country where the departments of thePuy-de-D?me, du Cantal, &c., are now situated, and he was then inMaine, which is at present the department of the Sarthe. The nativesof Auvergne are much in the habit of travelling beyond the limits oftheir own province. They leave it, while very young, to make whatthey call their _Tour of France_. As long as they are little, theysweep chimneys, like the Savoyards, and more than half of thosechildren we meet with in the streets and call Savoyards, are reallynatives of Auvergne: they also go of errands in the town, and workin the country when they can get any to do. Many are travellingblacksmiths, and you may often meet them, carrying on their shouldersold shovels, old tongs, or old pots, which they buy, mend, and sellagain. When they have gained a little money, they return to their owncountry, and marry. They are generally very honest and industriouspeople, but Jacques did not resemble them.

  He thought himself possessed of more wit than others, because,instead of working, he invented a thousand deceptions to get aliving. Sometimes he told fortunes, that is to say, he foretold whatwould happen to people, on the next day, or the following days, as ifhe really knew, and he found many foolish enough to believe him andto pay for his predictions. At other times, he would make up littlebundles of herbs, which he gathered in the fields, and sell them tothe country people, as certain remedies for the tooth-ache, or thebite of a mad dog. He would then go and spend in drink, the moneyobtained by this knavery. At other times, he would beg; but he neverworked, while it was possible for him to do anything else.

  The uncle of Fran?oise told him of his embarrassments. Fran?oisewas very pretty, and very quick and intelligent for her age. "Giveher to me," said Jacques, "I will teach her to tell fortunes." Thetruth was, that at that time Jacques was forced to beg, as he hadsquandered all his money, and he thought also that it would be muchmore interesting to have with him a little girl whom he could passoff as his daughter, and to whom more would be given than to him. Itwas not, in truth, very convenient for a man without money, and whowas constantly wandering from place to place, to burden himself witha little girl only five years old; but persons like Jacques neverthink of the future; and besides, if ever she happened to stand inthe way of his interests, he was not one who would feel much scruplein leaving her on the first road he came to, whenever it happened tosuit his convenience.

  Her uncle made no inquiries about all this; he was so rejoiced to getrid of Fran?oise that he did not even trouble himself to considerthat fortune-telling is a very disreputable trade, since it is asystem of deceptions. However, as he was rather ashamed of thusabandoning his brother's child, he told in the village that Jacqueswas going to take her to her mother's native place, which was a longway off, and leave her with a relation who would take care of her; sothat no one thought any more of Fran?oise, and she remained entirelyin the power of Jacques, who could do what he pleased with her.

  The first few days, she found it pleasant enough to run about thecountry. Jacques did not travel very rapidly, for as soon as heobtained any money, on account of the pretty face of Fran?oise, hestopped at a public-house, in order to spend it in drink. Fran?oiseliked this well enough, for on these occasions she always gotsomething to eat; nevertheless, if Jacques remained too long, shebecome weary, cried, and ended by falling asleep.

  At last the fatigue of this sort of life made her ill. Then Jacquestaught her to remain on his back with her arms round his neck, andseated in a kind of sack, the strings of which he held in front ofhim. Thus equipped, he begged for his sick child, and by this meansobtained much more than before.

  One evening when he was intoxicated, he lost his hold of the sack,and poor Fran?oise fell down, hurt her head very much, and almostdislocated her arm. As she screamed a good deal, Jacques was annoyed,and threatened to throw her into a ditch. She was dreadfully afraidof him, for he had already beaten her several times, especially whenhe was intoxicated; she therefore ceased, and after having wept insilence for a long time, she fell asleep by his side in a ditch wherehe passed the night.

  The following day she was in a violent state of fever. It isdifficult to say what Jacques would have done with her, had not acarrier, who fortunately happened to be passing by, given him forcharity, a place in his cart, for himself and his _sick child_, andin this manner they arrived at Cavignat, which was Jacques's nativevillage. Poor little Fran?oise was almost dying. She was stretched onthe straw of the cart, her head leaning down, and her little face,all pale, and bruised from the f
all, was covered with tears, whichflowed abundantly from her closed eyes.

  The vehicle was quickly surrounded by the women of the village,who questioned one another as to who this child could be, for theyhad always understood that Jacques was unmarried, and they weretherefore greatly astonished at seeing a little girl with him.

  Whilst he was fabricating a story on this subject, Madame Pallois,the Cur?'s sister, happened to pass. She was a very virtuous andbenevolent woman, and although not affluent, did a great deal ofgood in the village, where she visited and took care of the poor,worked for them, and frequently even served them for a doctor. Shesaw immediately that Fran?oise especially required food and rest. Shehad her carried at once into Jacques's house, as she believed her tobe his daughter. She herself brought her some soup and a little wine,as well as some sheets to sleep in: she examined and dressed herarm, which was very much swollen, and desired that great care shouldbe taken of her; and as Madame Pallois was highly respected in thevillage, her orders were always obeyed.

  Jacques's house was inhabited by his mother. This house, which wasnothing more than a poor hut, half-destroyed, was her only property,for her son had compelled her to sell some small patches of landwhich she possessed, in order to give him the price of them. He nowcame back to see whether there was anything else he could take fromher; but she could not give him anything more, unless she consentedto sell her house and sleep in the street, and this she refused todo. Then this detestable son became angry, he abused her, and evenappeared on the point of beating her, so much so that the inhabitantsof the village, filled with indignation at his conduct, forced himto leave it, threatening if he again entered it during his mother'slifetime, to denounce him to the authorities of the place. Fran?oisewas not sufficiently restored to be able to accompany him, but thisdid not disturb him, as his head was now filled with other projects.He therefore left her, and she, on her part, was perfectly satisfiednever to see him again.

  She remained with his mother, who was called in the village old_Catichou_, which in the _patois_ of Limousin, and of a part ofAuvergne, is equivalent to _Catherine_, just as _Fran?oise_ wascalled _Fran?ou_. She soon recovered, and old Catichou, who believedher to be her grandchild, was very fond of her. Catichou was, on thewhole, a tolerably good sort of woman, though she had so worthlessa son, whom she had brought up very badly, not having very correctprinciples herself. Madame Pallois also was kind to Fran?ou, andalways gave her something when she went to see her, such as fruit,nuts, a little bacon, butter, or cheese. Fran?ou, who was generousalways gave at least half of everything to Catichou, to whom shewas much attached, especially when she compared her with Jacques.Catichou was fond of good living, and at the same time very poor; onthese occasions, therefore, she received Fran?ou with such kindness,that the child was so delighted at being able to carry her something,that she went every day to seek for food in the village, where shewas considered very pretty, and much liked. If nothing was given toher, she asked for anything that took her fancy; and it sometimeshappened that when not observed, she took without asking whatevercame within her reach, scarcely knowing that she did wrong; andwhen she brought home a few carrots or eggs that she had found themeans of secreting, or some hemp or beans which she had taken fromthe fields, or from the places where they had been laid to dry, oldCatichou troubled herself but little how they were obtained, quitesatisfied with profiting by them. Madame Pallois, indeed, endeavouredto instil correct principles into the mind of Fran?ou, and oftenexhorted her to conduct herself properly; but as she was not awareof her propensity to theft, she had not thought of alluding to thatsubject.

  Old Catichou died, and Jacques returned to the village, to the greatannoyance of every one, for he was a worthless fellow. Madame Palloisespecially was grieved to think that he would set a bad example toFran?ou, and teach her many evil habits; but there was no means ofpreventing him from coming to his own house, or from having with himone who was believed to be his daughter, for he had forbidden her tosay he was not her father, as he did not wish it to be known thathe had been into Maine, where he had been guilty of many fraudulentpractices, which he feared might be discovered. Fran?ou said nothingabout the matter at first, or if she did, what she said had not beenunderstood, as she could not speak the _patois_ of the country, andafter a time she ceased to think of it. She cried very much whenCatichou died; but she was indifferent about seeing Jacques again,for she no longer felt afraid of him. Three years had passed sincehis departure, and she had forgotten his ill treatment. She was noweight years of age, clever, active, and determined: she was, besides,kind-hearted in the highest degree, always ready to oblige, goingof errands for one, and assisting another in driving his donkey, orweeding his garden. In fine, every one loved her, and, indeed shewould have well merited this love, had it not been for that one badpropensity, of which all were as yet ignorant.

  Perhaps she might have overcome this fault, for loving Jacques muchless than Catichou, she had no wish to carry anything to him, and shenever thought of stealing for herself. Besides, she saw little ofhim, for he had connected himself with a band of smugglers--peoplewho fraudulently import merchandise without paying the duty. Hefrequently passed whole days and nights away from home; and had itnot been for the inhabitants of the village, Fran?ou would often haverun the risk of perishing of hunger.

  One day when she complained of his not giving her anything to eat, hetold her, in a brutal tone, that he had nothing to give her, and thatshe must go and earn her living by asking for alms on the high road,where just then many persons were expected to pass on their way to aneighbouring fair. Fran?ou at first refused; Jacques told her that hewould beat her, and not allow her to enter the house, if she did notbring something back with her in the evening. She went, therefore.

  The first person who passed by, refused to give her anything; thesecond called her a lazy thing, and a little boy made game of her.Fran?ou had often heard it said that she was pretty, and suchcompliments had rendered her proud, neither was she accustomed toinsults; she therefore returned home, her heart burning with shame,and her eyes filled with tears, and declared that she would neverbeg again. Jacques beat her, and the following day led her by forceupon the high road; but the moment he was out of sight she went away.In the evening, he asked her how much she had received.

  "Nothing," she replied, "I did not remain upon the road." He beat heragain: she began to scream, and in the midst of her tears protesteda thousand times, that no one should force her to be called a littlelazy thing. Jacques turned her out of the house, and she passed thewhole night out of doors. In the morning he found her half-dead withcold: "Do you mean to go upon the road to-day?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied, "but it will be to go away altogether."

  In a transport of fury Jacques raised his hand.

  "I am going," she said, running away.

  "I will lock you up," exclaimed Jacques.

  "So much the better; then I shall not have to go upon the road."

  Jacques saw plainly that he should gain nothing by these proceedings;besides, he had business to attend to; his comrades were waiting forhim at the public-house.

  Fran?ou, seeing him take his bag, as he was accustomed to do whenhe went on long excursions, concluded that he would not return thatevening, and felt somewhat more tranquil. That day, and the followingone, she lived on the food given her by the good people of thevillage, who heaped maledictions upon Jacques for having thus lefther to die of hunger: but, on the evening of the second day, she sawhim returning in the distance, and was greatly frightened, for sheremembered the terrible beating she had received on the night beforethe last.

  It was then too late for her to go away, and besides she had notthe courage to do so; neither could she apply to Madame Pallois, asthat lady had accompanied her brother to a neighbouring village.At length she thought of the plan which had so often procured hera good reception from Catichou. She entered the kitchen of MadamePallois, saw there a fowl which had just been killed for the nextday's dinner
, and took it away unperceived. The servant, who returneda short time after, thought that the cat must have stolen it. Fran?oumade her escape trembling; besides she felt grieved to take anythingfrom Madame Pallois, who was so good to her, and whom she had alwaysheard called throughout the whole of the village the mother ofthe poor. But children always imagine that those who are a littlebetter off than themselves, cannot want for anything, and she didnot think she was doing her much harm; besides, she was so terriblyafraid of being beaten. As it happened, she was not beaten on thisoccasion; on the contrary, Jacques received her tolerably well, andFran?ou perceiving that this was the means of securing her peace,became confirmed in this shocking habit. But as it was not so easyto satisfy Jacques as Catichou, she began to take things of moreimportance.

  At length suspicions were excited in the village, although Fran?ouwas not exactly accused as yet; but she would soon have beendiscovered, expelled with Jacques, and thus ruined for life, had itnot been for an occurrence which took place at this time.

  Madame Pallois, wishing to keep her as much as possible out ofJacques's company, made her come to her to learn to read; andFran?ou, delighted at the prospect of knowing something of whichothers were ignorant, felt very grateful: therefore it rarelyhappened that she took anything from Madame Pallois. Besides, shewas very fond of Babet, the servant, who told her that she had beenscolded for having let the cat eat the fowl; so that she would havebeen sorry to have got her again into disgrace.

  One day, when she was nine years old, she entered the house withoutbeing observed. It was not her intention to steal in, but stillshe had not been seen. In this manner she went as far as MadamePallois's room. No one was there. She saw half a crown lying on themantelpiece; she looked at it: Jacques on the previous evening hadbrought home a shilling, which had dropped from the pocket of aperson who was walking before him, and he had greatly exulted in hisgood fortune. The present coin was much larger than the one Jacqueshad picked up. How pleased he would be to have it! As he no longerbeat her, she began to like him rather more than formerly.

  She no longer thought either of Babet or of Madame Pallois, butsolely of the pleasure which Jacques would feel. She turned the pieceover and over: she blushed: she had never as yet taken money, andshe thought that it was much worse to take it than anything else.Besides, the evening before, she had seen a woman led to prison forhaving committed a theft, and her dreadfully dejected appearance hadvery much excited her compassion. She thought of the circumstance atthis moment, and was on the point of replacing the money; but whilestill holding it, she fancied she heard a noise, and grasping ittightly in her hand, she ran out. No sooner was she outside, than,regretting more than ever what she had done, she was on the pointof returning to try to replace the money on the mantelpiece withoutbeing seen; but at this moment she beheld Madame Pallois enter thehouse, and she hid herself, in great trepidation. There was no longerany chance of replacing it.

  When Madame Pallois had disappeared, Fran?ou came out of herhiding-place, and walked slowly away. She no longer thought of givingthe money to Jacques, her only concern was to find the means ofreturning to the house when Madame Pallois was out, and replacingthe money unperceived. While still retaining it tightly in her hand,she met Jacques, who gave her a faggot to carry home. In takinghold of it she dropped the money; Jacques picked it up. "Ah! ah!"said he, "where did you get this?" and without waiting for a replyhe carried it off. Fran?ou did not dare to run after him, she didnot dare to cry out, for she would be asked how the money came intoher possession. She only sat down on her faggot and wept bitterly.At that moment she would have given the world not to have committedso disgraceful an action. Just then the Cur? passed by; she quicklywiped away her tears, and without perceiving that she had been cryinghe told her to go and fetch his cane, which he had left at home.

  The idea of seeing Madame Pallois, whom she knew to be at the timein the house, made her tremble from head to foot. Nevertheless,she must obey, for the Cur? was waiting. At first she walked veryslowly; he called to her to make more haste: she took her resolutionand rushed into the house. There she found Madame Pallois greatlyexcited, and the servant in tears. "You may say what you please,Babet," said Madame Pallois, in a tone of severity, "you are the onlyperson who can have entered this room during my absence, and I amquite certain that this half-crown was on the mantelpiece when I wentout."

  The servant again protested her innocence. "Be silent," continuedMadame Pallois; "for some time past I have perceived several thingsmissing; I give you till to-morrow to leave the house; but until thenI shall so carefully watch your proceedings, that you need not hopeto profit by the time you still remain."

  The unfortunate girl sobbed violently; and struck her head with bothher hands. Fran?ou wept also, but she had not the courage to declarewhat she had done. At length she threw herself on her knees, andentreated pardon for Babet. Madame Pallois herself, softened by thedespair of the poor girl, turned towards her.

  "Babet," she said, in an agitated voice, "perhaps want has led you tocommit this crime; if so, I will forgive you, provided you confessall."

  Babet again loudly protested her innocence.

  "Leave the house," said her mistress angrily. Babet fell on her kneesin the middle of the room. "See, Fran?ou," continued Madame Pallois,"to what a condition crime reduces us." Fran?ou hid her face in herapron; she was on the point of avowing her fault; but she looked atMadame Pallois, and her tongue seemed frozen in her mouth.

  "See what mischief you have done," continued Madame Pallois,addressing Babet with an air of deep concern, while her eyes filledwith tears. "This was the last half-crown which I had at my disposalat the present moment, and I had promised it to poor Bernard, inorder that he might call a doctor to his dying wife."

  "It is not I," cried Babet once more; but Madame Pallois would notlisten to her. Babet wrung her hands, and Fran?ou rushed out ofthe house in search of Jacques. He was not at home; she ran to thetavern, and reached it half-suffocated with grief and the rapidity ofher course.

  "Oh," cried she, clasping her hands, "give me back the half-crownthat you took away from me!" Jacques, already intoxicated, got up ina fury, and gave her a kick that threw her on the ground.

  "Give it me back! give it me back!" she exclaimed, with outstretchedarms, and without rising from the ground.

  Jacques was again on the point of striking her, but she was takenaway from him, put out of the house, and the door closed againsther. She threw herself on her knees before the door, and entreatedthem to open it: but no one attended to her. At last, she sat downon a bench to wait until Jacques came out; but her eyes were heavywith weeping, and she fell asleep. Hearing no one in the tavern, shereturned home. Jacques had come back, but he was plunged into theheavy sleep of intoxication, and it was impossible to rouse him.Fran?ou then went to the Cur?'s house; everything was quiet there."Oh," she said, "perhaps they have pardoned Babet." She returned, laydown on her bed, and passed the night in alternate hopes and fears.The day dawned, and Jacques awoke. Fran?ou again asked for the money,sometimes angrily, sometimes in tones of supplication.

  "The money!" said Jacques, with a stupified look, for he was not yetsober; "Ah!" he continued with an oath, "it is all gone: not a sousleft!"

  Fran?ou arose; she had formed a project during the night. Shegathered together the few rags which still remained to her fromwhat old Catichou had left, made a bundle of them, and taking alsoa little silver cross given to her by Madame Pallois, she bent hersteps towards the Cur?'s house. Babet was in the yard leaning againstthe wall; she approached her. "Babet," said she, "has Madame Palloisforgiven you?"

  "No," replied Babet gloomily.

  "Well," continued Fran?ou timidly, at the same time offering herbundle, and taking from her neck the little silver cross; "give herthese, perhaps they will be worth as much."

  "Oh! they are not worth half as much," said Babet sighing; "andbesides, what good would it do me? My character is lost, and Bernardwill think that I have caused the death
of his wife."

  Fran?ou sat down in dismay.

  "Go and see Madame Pallois," said Babet: "go," she continuedimpatiently, as if eager to get rid of her, and as the child arose todepart she added with much emotion--

  "Good bye, Fran?ou, will you kiss me?"

  Fran?ou seemed afraid to approach.

  "Oh!" said Babet sorrowfully, "I see that you too will not kiss me."She turned her head and wept, for she believed that Fran?ou alsotook her for a thief, and did not wish to kiss her.

  "Oh! yes, yes," said Fran?ou, as she threw herself into Babet's arms,who embraced her tenderly, and then said in a stifled voice:

  "Go, Fran?ou, go to Madame Pallois, she is waiting for you."

  Fran?ou walked slowly away, uncertain what to do. On reaching thedoor of Madame Pallois's room, her courage failed her, and insteadof entering she ran out towards the yard. There she beheld Babetstanding on the brink of the well, looking down as if intendingto throw herself into it. She rushed forward, uttering a piercingshriek; Babet turned her head, and Fran?ou had just time to seizehold of her.

  "Oh! it is I!" she cried, falling on her knees and holding Babet bythe skirts with all her strength. While Babet tried to disengageherself, Madame Pallois came up.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Fran?ou, sinking on the ground, "don't let her throwherself into the well! It was I took the money."

  Babet and Madame Pallois stood motionless with astonishment. Fran?oustill continued prostrate on the ground, sobbing violently. Babetraised her up, though she herself could scarcely stand.

  Madame Pallois made her sit down; then, turning to Fran?ou, "Are youquite sure that what you say is true, Fran?ou?" she asked, somewhatsternly.

  "Ask my father," said Fran?ou, hiding her face against the wall.

  "And what have you done with it?"

  "My father took it from me," she replied, sobbing. "I begged him togive it back to me, but he has spent it. I brought all this to giveyou instead, but Babet says it is worth nothing." At these words hersobs were redoubled.

  "Babet," continued Madame Pallois, turning towards the poor girl,who, unable to support her joy, was leaning against the wall,breathing with difficulty: "can you forgive me, for accusing you ofso disgraceful an act? Will you permit me to kiss you?"

  Babet seized the hand of her mistress, then ran to Fran?ou, who hadagain fallen on the ground, and presented her to Madame Pallois,begging her to forgive her.

  "No! no!" exclaimed Fran?oise; "poor Bernard!"

  "Fran?ou," said Madame Pallois, "I am going to Bernard's cottage. Youmust come with me."

  "Oh! no, no," cried Fran?ou, "I would rather die first."

  "I insist upon it, Fran?ou; come, dry your eyes, and follow me."

  Fran?ou dared not resist. Madame Pallois took her by the hand, andwas compelled to support her at every instant. At last they arrived.Bernard came to the door.

  "Madame," said he in a tone of the deepest affliction, "you mustpermit me to fetch the doctor in the course of the morning; my wifeis in despair, and thinks that he alone can save her."

  "Let us go in," said Madame Pallois. At this moment she dropped thehand of Fran?ou, who immediately made her escape, and ran off withall her might. By the time she reached the gate of the village, hermind was made up. The physician's house was situated only a shortdistance from Cavignat. Fran?ou knew it; she ran there as fast as herstrength would permit, and soon reached it.

  "Oh," she cried to the physician, sobbing, "come and relieve poorBernard's wife; Madame Pallois had only one half-crown to pay foryour visit, and I took it. If you do not come, she will die. Do,pray, come;" she continued, clasping her hands, and dragging him byhis dressing-gown. Greatly astonished, and affected by the conditionin which he saw her, the physician interrogated her, and she relatedwhat had occurred, with every sign of the deepest despair. Heconsoled her, and promised to go and see the wife of poor Bernardwithout making any charge for his visit. Transported with joy,Fran?ou wanted him to set off in his dressing-gown and nightcap,but he represented to her that he should be able to go much quickerin his gig, and that he could dress himself while the horse washarnessed. He had great difficulty in making her listen to reason,but at last the horse was put to, and the gig drove off.

  They arrived, and entered the house. Fran?ou kept behind thephysician, not daring to come forward, and as the attention of everyone was fixed on the patient, who was in a state of great suffering,Fran?ou remained for a time unnoticed. When the invalid was a littlemore tranquil, and the physician had given his advice, Madame Palloisasked him how it happened that he had arrived so quickly, and whyBernard had not returned with him.

  "I have not seen Bernard," said the doctor. "I was called by thislittle angel," he added, turning to Fran?ou, on whom Madame Palloishad just cast a stern look. He then related what had taken place.Madame Pallois reflected for a moment; then, calling Fran?ou,"Promise me," she said, "that this shall be the last time, and I willforgive you." Fran?ou promised, and she kept her word. Besides, shewas no longer subjected to the same temptations. The knaveries ofJacques were discovered, and he was obliged to fly from the villagefor fear of being arrested as a smuggler. It was also ascertainedthat Fran?ou was not his daughter; he had said so while intoxicated,and Fran?ou, on being questioned, confirmed the statement.

  The physician asked to take her into his service, to milk the cowand attend to the fowls. As he was a very excellent and strictlyhonest man, and treated her well, she had nothing but good examplesbefore her. His wife instructed her in her religious duties, and sheregularly attended the catechism of M. le Cur?, at Cavignat, and whenshe had reflected more on what she had done, she could not look Babetin the face without blushing; especially as Babet had told her thatshe had bitterly repented of her wish to throw herself into the well,which was a thing so strictly forbidden, and for which M. le Cur? hadgreat difficulty in giving her absolution.

  "Poor Babet!" said M?lanie, with a heavy sigh, for she had scarcelybreathed during the termination of the story.

  "Poor Fran?ou!" said Eug?ne, "she would certainly have died of griefif Babet had thrown herself into the well."

  "My children," said Madame d'Inville, "thank God for having given yougood parents, and remember, M?lanie, when they take so much pains togive you good habits, how unreasonable it is not to pay attention tothem, or to say when you are told to do anything, '_I don't want todo this_,' or '_I won't do that_.'"

  At this moment, M?lanie saw a poor man passing with a little girl."Oh! dear grandmamma," said she, "that is just like the story ofJacques. I am sure that little girl is not his daughter."

  "And why not, my child?"

  "Oh! see, he has such a bad look."

  "Because you fancy so, because he is in rags, and appears to be ill.Look at me, M?lanie; just imagine, if I were covered with rags, andhad been laid up with fever for a week, do you think I should lookvery well?"

  "Oh! dear grandmamma!"

  "He is old; I too am old; and whereas I take my granddaughter out towalk for her pleasure, he, on the contrary, takes his out to beg forher bread."

  "Do you think so, grandmamma?"

  "It is at least possible, my dear; and as we know nothing to thecontrary, we have no right to regard as dishonest a man who may bequite the reverse, and who has so much need of our good opinion."

  M?lanie carried to the poor man a sou which Madame d'Inville hadgiven her, and, touched by her grandmamma's words, she added anotherfrom her own store.