Moral Tales 2

Moral Tales 2

At the conclusion of this recital, intermingled with reproofs, Madame Jerome renewed her questions; but little Peter wept without replying. The physician who had been sent for, now arrived, and told them that he must not be tormented, as a severe fever was coming on; and indeed a violent excitement soon succeeded to the weakness from which he had just recovered. His fault represented itself to him in the most frightful colours, and threw him into fits of despair, of which they were at a loss to conjecture the cause. At length, when Madame Jerome had gone home to inform her husband of what had happened, and of the necessity there was of her remaining to nurse Peter, he raised himself in his bed, and throwing himself on his knees, with clasped hands called M. Dubourg, and said to him, "Oh! M. Dubourg, I have committed a great crime." M. Dubourg, thinking him delirious, told him to keep himself quiet, and lie down again. "No, M. Dubourg," he repeated, "I have committed a great crime." And then with the quickness and volubility which the fever gave him, he related all that had passed, but with so much minuteness of detail, that it was impossible to consider what he said as the effect of delirium. M. Dubourg made him he down again, and stood before him pale and shocked. "Oh! Peter, Peter!" said he at last, with a deep sigh, "I had so earnestly hoped to have been able to keep you with me!" Peter, without listening to him, uttered aloud all that the torments of his conscience dictated; he said that his master's mother would have him apprehended, and in moments when his reason wandered more than usual, he declared that the guard were in pursuit of him. M. Dubourg, after reflecting for some time, went to his secretary, counted his money, closed his desk again, and Madame Jerome returning at the same moment, he related to her what he had just learned, adding, "Madame Jerome, little Peter, according to his own account, has committed a great crime, which prevents my keeping him with me as I had hoped to do, for I had provided the necessary means. My mind has never been easy, from the day I saw him behind a cursed cabriolet. He had offered to remain with me for one louis more a year, and I thought of procuring it by my labour. You see, Madame Jerome, how valuable and profitable a thing is learning. I had indeed made it a rule never to publish anything; but I considered that there were works which might be written, without compromising one's tranquillity. I have composed an almanac, in which I have recorded the feasts and epochs of the year among the ancients. It cannot but be very interesting to know, that on such a day began the Ides of March, or, as the case may be, the Feasts of Ceres. I demanded of the publisher one louis for it, that being all I stood in need of. He gave it immediately, and will give me the same every year, for a similar almanac." M. Dubourg was going on to explain to Madame Jerome how he would manage to insure accuracy, notwithstanding the irregularity of the ancient calendar; "but," said he, "it is not necessary for you to know all this:" and then added, "I had intended this louis for little Peter. I can dispose of it in his favour, and the more easily as we are now at the end of the year, and I have in my reserved fund more than sufficient to defray the expenses of his illness. I was afraid at first that I should be encouraging vice; but I have since considered that the evil is now done, and that it is the innocent who has suffered from it. Take, then, this louis, Madame Jerome, and carry the eighteen francs to the shopkeeper." This, said M. de Cideville, was the precise louis d'or whose history I am relating to you. Madame Jerome, he continued, had been waiting anxiously for the end of this discourse, which she did not very well understand, but which she had not ventured to interrupt. As she was a very honest woman, the conduct of her son had so overwhelmed her with grief and shame, that she almost threw herself at the feet of M. Dubourg, to thank him for affording her the means of repairing it without being obliged to pay a sum very considerable for a poor woman burdened with a family. She hastened out, though not without addressing some reproaches to her son, who scarcely understood them, and ran to pay the shopkeeper. As it happened, no inquiries had been made of him, nor had he, on his part, sent for the money. Peter, therefore, had been mistaken, and as yet nothing was known about the affair. His mother, on her return, found him better; the fever had begun to abate, and he was also comforted by the intelligence she brought. But if he had escaped exposure, he could not escape from the remorse of his own conscience, or from the reproaches of his mother, who was inconsolable. Her lamentations, however, distressed him less than the cold and serious manner of M. Dubourg, who no longer approached his bed, or spoke to him, but took care that he should want for nothing, without ever directly asking him what he wished to have. Little Peter had, more than once, shed bitter tears on this account, and to this grief was added, when he began to recover, the fear of returning to his father, who had come to see him during his illness, and who, being a man of great integrity, had severely reprimanded, and even threatened him. Peter entreated his mother to ask M. Dubourg to keep him. M. Dubourg at first refused; but Madame Jerome having promised him that Peter should not go out, and that he should study the whole of the day, he went to consult his Xenophon, and saw that Socrates in his youth had been addicted to every vice; there was reason therefore, for hoping that labour would reform little Peter, as it had reformed Socrates. Peter was obliged to keep his word. His illness had left a debility which long continued, and he was further restrained from going out by the fear of meeting those to whom he owed money. Study being his only amusement, he ended by becoming fond of it: and as he possessed good abilities, his progress was such as to give his master much satisfaction. But the honest M. Dubourg was ill at ease with Peter, and no longer spoke to him with his accustomed familiarity. Peter felt this, and was unhappy: then he redoubled his efforts to improve. One day, having made a translation which gave M. Dubourg great satisfaction, the latter promised, that if he continued to improve, he would have the coat, which he still kept for him, arranged. Peter, after much hesitation, begged to be allowed to sell it instead, so that its price, together with the louis which he was to receive at the end of the year, might serve to pay a part, at least, of his debts. M. Dubourg consented, and was greatly pleased that this idea had occurred to him. While waiting, therefore, for two years, until the new coat had served its time, he continued to wear his old grey jacket, which he was obliged to mend almost every day, and the sleeves of which had become about four inches too short. But during this time he succeeded in completely gaining the friendship of M. Dubourg, who, having received a small legacy, employed it in increasing the salary of Peter, whom he elevated to the rank of his secretary. From this moment he treated him as a son; but Peter, who was now called M. Jerome, could not perceive, without profound grief, that whenever any allusion was made in his presence to a defect of probity, M. Dubourg blushed, cast down his eyes, and did not dare to look at him. As for himself, whenever anything was mentioned that could have reference to his fault, he felt a severe pang shoot through his heart. When money was concerned, he was timid, always trembling, lest his honesty should be suspected. He did not dare, for several years, to propose to M. Dubourg that he should spare him the trouble of carrying the money to the restaurateur at the end of each month. The first time his master intrusted him with it, he was delighted, but still felt humiliated by the very pleasure he experienced. However, he became accustomed to it: a life of steady honesty has at last restored to him the confidence which every man of honour ought to possess; but he will not dare to relate this history to his children for their instruction, until he has become so old, and so respectable, that he is no longer the same person as little Peter, and he will always remember, that to M. Dubourg, and his louis d'or, he owes the preservation of his character. CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR. One day after breakfast, M. de Cideville having a leisure hour, Ernestine begged him to continue the history of the louis d'or, and he began thus:-- The shopkeeper to whom Madame Jerome had carried the louis, was just going out as she gave it to him. He took it, returned her in change a six-franc piece, which was lying on the counter, gave the louis to his wife to be locked up, and departed. As the woman was on the point of putting it by, she heard her little girl, a child of two years old, screaming so violently in the adjoining room, that she thought she must have fallen into the fire. She ran to her, and found that she had only caught her finger in a door. Having succeeded in pacifying her, she returned to lock up the louis, but it was not to be found. Her shopwoman, Louisa, searched for it also, with great uneasiness. No one had entered the shop; she had been alone, and she felt persuaded that her mistress, who did not much like her, and who often quarrelled with her without just cause, would accuse her of having taken it: nor was she mistaken. It was in vain that she asserted her innocence, that she emptied her pockets, and even undressed herself in the presence of her mistress, to prove to her that she had not concealed it. She was not to be convinced, and she was the more enraged from knowing that her husband would be angry with her for not having locked it up immediately. On his return, she related what had happened, and expressed her confidence that Louisa had taken the money. He was not so sure of that, however, for he knew her to be an honest girl; but he was out of temper, and Louisa suffered for it, and was dismissed. She went away heart-broken, yet carrying with her, without being aware of it, the louis d'or in her shoe. At the moment that her mistress, hearing the cries of her little girl, ran to her aid, she laid the louis upon the counter, on which Louisa had mounted for the purpose of arranging a bandbox, placed very high. She wore thick shoes, to which, in order to render them still stronger, and better suited for keeping out the damp, she had had another sole put; but this sole, which was not very good, was worn out at the side, and Louisa, making a false step upon the counter with these heavy shoes, the louis was forced into the opening between the two soles. She felt, as she descended, something catch at her foot, but imagined it to be a nail coming out of her shoe, and as she was very active, and did not willingly interrupt anything upon which she was engaged, she merely struck her foot against the bottom of the counter, in order to drive in what inconvenienced her. This made the louis enter entirely into the opening, and as high heels were then worn, the action of the foot made it slip towards the toe, where it was no longer felt, and Louisa wandered through Paris in search of a new situation, carrying with her everywhere this louis which had driven her from her old one. Not having a character from her master, she could not obtain an engagement. She was an orphan, and had no relations in Paris, so that to avoid perishing from want, she was obliged to station herself at the corner of a street, as a mender of old clothes. This occupation was a very painful one for Louisa, who had been well brought up, her parents having been respectable tradespeople, who had failed, and died in poverty. It had required all the gentleness of her disposition to enable her to live with the wife of the shopkeeper, by whom she was badly treated, but as she was a well-conducted girl, she endured everything in order to continue in a respectable situation. Now, she was compelled to hear the oaths of the street people, and the talk of drunkards, who often addressed her in a very disagreeable manner, to say nothing of the cold, the wind, and the rain, from which she suffered greatly; but as her occupation did not require much walking, she had not worn out her shoes, so that she always carried about with her the louis which had occasioned her so much harm. One day, in spring, when the sun had been very warm, there came on suddenly a terrible storm, which, in a few minutes, swelled the kennels to such a degree, that in several places they touched the walls of the street. Louisa had left her station to take refuge under an opposite doorway, where she found herself by the side of a lady, dressed in a manner which indicated affluence. She was not young, appeared to be in bad health, and was much embarrassed about having to cross, in her thin shoes, the deep pools of water formed before her. She was not in the habit of going on foot; but this morning, the weather being very fine, and the church in which she usually heard mass, being near her residence, she had not ordered her carriage in going to it. Having found it, however, very full, she went to another at some distance, and while there, had sent her servant on an errand. She had returned alone, had been overtaken by the storm, and was much afraid that the damp would bring on a severe cold, from which she was but just recovered. "If I had only some other shoes!" she said. Louisa very timidly offered hers. "But what will you do?" asked the lady. "Oh, I can go barefoot," replied Louisa; "but you, madam, cannot possibly go in those shoes." And Louisa really believed what she said, for poor people, accustomed to see us surrounded with so many conveniences, which they manage to do without, sometimes imagine it would be impossible for us to support things which they endure as a matter of course. But although they entertain this opinion, we ought not to share it. We must not persuade ourselves that their skins are much less sensitive than our own, nor that they are constituted in a different manner to ourselves; but, accustomed to pain, they do not exaggerate it, and thus endure, without much suffering, things which we should think it impossible for us even to attempt, and which, nevertheless, would not do us more harm than they do them. However, continued M. de Cideville, in the present case, it was not so. Louisa was young, and in good health, the lady aged, and an invalid. It was quite reasonable, therefore, that she should accept Louisa's offer, and she did so. Louisa making many apologies for not being able to present her shoes in better condition, accompanied her barefoot, and supported her, as she could not walk very well in such large and heavy shoes. When they reached the lady's residence, she made Louisa go in, in order to dry herself, and at the same time to reward her for the service she had rendered her. She also ordered her shoes to be dried before they were returned to her. They were placed near the kitchen fire; Louisa likewise seated herself there, and while talking with the servants, the kitchen-maid took one of the shoes in order to clean it, and accidentally raised up the outer sole which the water had almost entirely detached. The louis d'or fell out. For a moment Louisa was as much astonished as the rest, but she suddenly uttered a cry of joy, for she remembered that something had entered her shoe on the day she had been accused of taking the louis. She related her story, and the servants, greatly astonished, went and told it to their mistress. Louisa entreated the lady to give her a certificate of what had happened, that she might get a character from her master, and thus be able to obtain a situation. The lady caused inquiries to be made, not only at the shopkeeper's, where she learned that Louisa's account was entirely true, but also in the neighbourhood, where she had always been regarded as a very honest girl, and where no one believed that she had stolen the louis. The lady also perceived by her manners and conversation, that she was much superior to the station in which she had found her; she therefore took her into her service, in order to assist her lady's maid, who was old and infirm. She sent to the shopkeeper the amount of his louis in silver, and gave to Louisa the louis d'or, which had occasioned her so much injury, and so much good. As often happens with uneducated persons, Louisa was superstitious. She imagined that her good fortune was attached to this louis d'or, which she had so long carried about her, without being aware of it. She therefore would not think of spending it, but still continued to carry it about her. It happened that her mistress while going to her country seat, which lay at some considerable distance from Paris, turned aside, for a few leagues, in order to spend a day with a friend, whose house was nearly on her route. She left Louisa at the post-house, with her luggage, where she was to take her up the following morning. As Louisa had nothing to do, she seated herself upon a bench before the door which faced the high road. Presently she beheld a young man riding up to the house, at full speed. He rode so rapidly that the postilion, by whom he was accompanied, could not keep pace with him, and was obliged to follow at some considerable distance behind. He was pale, apparently much fatigued, and also greatly agitated. He alighted from his horse, and ordered another to be saddled immediately; the ostlers could not make sufficient haste. As he was preparing to remount, he sought for money to defray his expenses, but he had not his purse. He searched all his pockets, and then perceived that at the last stage but one, where he had been obliged to change everything, in consequence of his horse having thrown him into a ditch full of water, he had forgotten his portmanteau, his purse, and his watch. He was greatly distressed and agitated. "What!" he exclaimed, "not a louis upon me! A louis would save my life." He inquired for the master of the inn, and was told that he was in the fields, and that there was no one in the house except his son, a lad of fifteen, and some postilions. "Can you not," he said, "find one louis to lend me? I will give you a cheque for ten." The men looked at each other without replying. He told them he was the Count de Marville, and that he was going two leagues further on. His wife was lying there ill, very ill, without a physician, and surrounded by persons who did not understand her constitution, and who were giving her remedies quite unsuitable to her state. The news had reached him at Paris: he had consulted his physician, and in order not to lose time, had taken post horses and travelled night and day. His servant, too weak to follow him, had been obliged to stop by the way, and as for himself, he had just travelled a double post, so that he was four leagues from the place where he had left his luggage, and had not a single louis to continue his journey, and save, perhaps, the life of his wife. But to all this, the men made no reply; they merely dispersed; the very agitation of the count destroyed their confidence in what he said. Besides, the postilion who had accompanied him, and to whom he had promised a liberal reward, in order to induce him to ride a double stage, was extremely dissatisfied, at not being even paid his hire, and complained, swore, and threatened to appeal to the mayor of the place. M. de Marville thought of nothing but the delay, and in his anxiety it seemed to him that the loss of a single hour might be fatal to his wife. Louisa heard all this; she knew the name of de Marville, having heard it mentioned by her mistress. She thought of her louis; it was the only money she had about her, for in travelling she placed the little she possessed in the care of her mistress, except the louis, which she could not part with. She thought it very hard to give it up: still it had drawn her from a state of so much misery, that she felt it would be a sin not to allow another to be benefited by it when it was in her power to do so. Taking it, therefore, out of the little pocket in which she always carried it, she offered it to M. de Marville, who, greatly delighted, asked her name, and promised that she should hear from him; then paying the postilion, and remounting his horse, he rode off; while Louisa, though she did not repent of what she had done, felt, nevertheless, a little uneasy, and the more so as the people of the inn assured her that she would never see her money again. The following day, her mind was set at rest, by the return of her mistress, who was acquainted with M. de Marville, and had learned that his wife was in fact lying very ill, at the distance of two leagues from where they were. Louisa's sole anxiety now was to regain her louis, which was still at the post-house where M. de Marville had changed it, and it became henceforward more precious than ever in her estimation. M. de Marville did not forget what he owed her. He had found his wife extremely ill, and whether from the good effects of his treatment, or from some other cause, he had the delight of seeing her restored to health. He attributed her cure to Louisa, and as he was extremely attached to his wife, he considered himself under great obligations to one whom he regarded as her preserver. He went to see her at the seat of her mistress, repaid the louis, and also settled upon her a small annuity. On this occasion, his man-servant, who had some property, became acquainted with Louisa. He married her, and shortly after entered into the service of the same mistress. As he was a reasonable man, he wished her to spend the louis, for he knew that it was ridiculous to imagine that anything of this kind could bring good fortune; but Louisa would only consent to part with it, in payment of the first two months' nursing of her first child. The nurse of this child was a tenant of M. d'Auvray, the father of a little girl called _Aloise_. To him she gave the louis, when paying the rent of her farm, and you shall presently see what use was made of it. THE RENT. Aloise had for some time been very uneasy. Janette, the woman who used to bring her every other day a bunch of fresh chickweed for her bird, had not been near her for a whole week, and each time she thought of it, she said to her nurse, "I am sure my poor little _Kiss_ will be ill, for want of some chickweed, for there is no shade in his cage when he is at the window, and the sun is shining over his head." And Aloise actually feared that her bird would receive a _coup de soleil_. This fear, indeed, did not often occupy her thoughts, only whenever she went to talk to Kiss, she would say, "This naughty Janette, will she never come?" Janette arrived at last, and Aloise, when she saw her, gave her a good scolding, and hastily seizing a bunch of chickweed, and without giving herself the time to unfasten it, she tore a handful, and carried it to her bird, saying, "Poor Kiss! the sun is dreadfully hot!" "Oh yes! Miss," said Janette, "it is indeed very hot, especially when one has just recovered from a fever." "Have you had a fever?" asked Aloise, whose whole attention was now turned to Janette, and whom, indeed, she perceived to be very much altered. Janette told her that her illness had been caused by grief, for her rent was due, and she was unable to pay it, and her landlord had threatened to turn her and her three children out of doors, and take away her bed, which was all she possessed in the world. "What," said Aloise, "have you no chairs?" Janette replied that she had had two wooden stools and a table, but that during the winter before last, which was that of 1789, she had been forced to burn them, for the cold was so intense, that one morning she found one of her children almost dead. A short time previously, she had lost her husband, after a long illness, which had exhausted all their resources, so that this was the third quarter's rent which she had been unable to pay. Her landlord had given her some further indulgence, but now told her, that if she did not pay by the next quarter, both she and her children should be turned into the street. "And well will it be for us," continued Janette, "if we find there a little straw on which to lie down and die, for we are too miserable to be taken in by any one." Saying this, she began to cry, and Aloise, who was extremely kind and compassionate, felt ready to cry also. She asked Janette if her rent was very high. It was six francs a quarter. Three quarters were due, a louis would, therefore, be owing in July; and this was a sum which she could not possibly hope to pay, for her only means of living was the sale of her chickweed, together with a few flowers in summer, and some baked apples in the winter, all which was scarcely sufficient to find food for her children. She added that during her illness, they must have died of hunger, had it not been for the charity of some neighbours, and that she was now hastening home in order to get them some bread, as they had eaten nothing all day. Aloise took from her drawer forty sous, which was all that remained of her month's allowance, for as she was very careless, she was never rich. These she gave to Janette, and the nurse added twenty more, thus making in all half a crown. The nurse also gave her, for the children, some old shoes which Aloise had cast aside, and poor Janette went away delighted, forgetting for the time her unhappy condition, for the poor sometimes endure such pressing hardships, that when they find themselves for a moment freed from them, the happiness which they experience prevents them from thinking of the misery which awaits them. After Janette's departure, Aloise and her nurse continued talking of her for a long time. Aloise would gladly have saved from her allowance eight francs a month, in order to make up the louis required by Janette, but this was impossible; she had lost her new gloves, and was obliged to buy others; a new pair of prunella shoes was to be brought home to her on the first of the month, to replace those she had spoiled by imprudently walking in the mud; besides, her thimble, her needles, her scissors, her thread, all of which she was constantly losing through her want of order, formed a source of considerable expense. Although she was eleven years of age, nothing had been able to cure her of this want of order, a defect which resulted from great vivacity, and from the fact, that when once an idea had taken possession of her mind, it so completely engrossed it that, for the moment, it was impossible for her to think of anything else. At present, it was Janette who occupied her thoughts. She would have been delighted to have had a louis to give her by the time her rent became due, but she did not dare to ask her parents for it, for she saw that, without being in any way embarrassed, they nevertheless lived with a certain degree of economy; besides, she knew them to be so kind, that if they could do anything, they would do it without being asked. When she went down to her mother's room, she spoke of Janette, of her grief for her, and of her desire to assist her. Twenty times she went over her calculations aloud, in order to let it be understood that she could not do so out of her allowance. Twenty times she repeated, "This poor Janette says that she must die upon straw, if she cannot pay her rent." Her mother, Madame d'Auvray, was writing, and her father was occupied in looking over some prints; neither of them appeared to hear her. Aloise was in despair, for when she once wished for anything, she had no rest until she had either obtained it, or forgotten it. She was told that her drawing-master was waiting for her. Quite taken up with Janette and her grief, she left, as was almost invariably the case with her, her work upon the chair, her pincushion under it, her thimble on the table, and her scissors on the ground. Her mother called her back. "Aloise," said she, "will you never put away your work of your own accord, and without my being obliged to remind you of it?" Aloise replied mournfully that she was thinking of something else. "Of Janette, was it not?" said her father. "Well, then, since you are so anxious to get her out of trouble, let us make a bargain. Whenever you put away your work without being reminded of it by your mother, I will give you ten sous; in forty-eight days, therefore, you will be able to gain the louis, which will not be required by Janette for three months." Oh! how delighted was Aloise. She threw herself into her father's arms; her heart was freed from a heavy load. "But," said M. d'Auvray, "in order that the agreement may be equal, it is necessary that you should pay something whenever you fail. It would be just to demand from you ten sous, but," added he, smiling, "I do not wish to make too hard a bargain for poor Janette; I will, therefore, only require of you five sous; but mind, I shall show no mercy, and you must not expect a fraction of the louis, unless you gain the whole. Here it is," said he, as he took it out of his pocket and placed it in a drawer of Madame d'Auvray's secretary; "now try to gain it." Aloise promised that it should be hers; her parents seemed to doubt it. It was, however, agreed, that Madame d'Auvray and Aloise should each keep an account, in order to secure accuracy. And Aloise was so pleased, and so eager to communicate the arrangement to her nurse, that she ran out of the room without putting away her work. Fortunately, she remembered it at the door; she ran back again, seized upon it, and beheld her father laughing heartily. "At all events," she exclaimed, "mamma did not remind me of it," and for once the excuse was admitted. For some time Aloise was very exact, and the more so as she had related the affair to Janette, who without daring to remind her of it, now and then dropped a word concerning her landlord, who was a very severe man. During a whole month the work had only been forgotten six times; thus, in twenty-four days, Aloise had gained her ten sous, but as there were six days of negligence, during each of which she had lost five sous, there remained six times five, or three times ten sous, to be deducted from what she had gained; she had, therefore, secured but twenty-one, out of the forty-eight days. But Aloise did not reckon in this manner. As her carelessness extended to everything, she sometimes forgot that on the six days on which she had not put away her work, she had not gained her ten sous; at other times she forgot that on these days she had lost five also, so that she never considered that she had lost more than five or ten sous, on those days on which her negligence had really made her lose fifteen. At the end of the month, her mother had the greatest difficulty in the world to make her understand this calculation, and when she did understand it, she forgot it again. She had begun to keep her account in writing, and then had neglected it; she begged her mother to let her examine hers; she did so, at the same time warning her that it was for the last time. Aloise recommenced writing, but lost her paper; she then tried to reckon mentally, but got confused in her calculations. Unfortunately, also, the hour for her dancing lesson, which she took in her mother's apartment, was changed, and now fell at the time that Janette called; she therefore saw her less frequently, and began to forget her a little: nevertheless the orderly habits which she had begun to contract were tolerably well kept up. She often put her work away, but she also frequently neglected it: still it seemed to her that she had attended to it so many times, that she felt quite easy on the subject, and did not even think of examining the day of the month. One morning she rose extremely happy; she was going to spend a day in the country. The party had been long arranged, and Aloise had drawn a brilliant picture of the pleasure which she anticipated from it. The weather, too, was delightful. She had just finished dressing, when a man came to her room in the garb of a workman; he wore a leathern apron and a woollen cap, which he scarcely raised as he entered. He appeared very much out of humour, and said in a rough manner to the nurse, that he had come on account of the woman who had served her with chickweed for her birds; that he was her landlord; that she owed him four quarters' rent, which she was unable to pay, and had entreated him to go and see if any one there could assist her. "It is not my business," he added in a surly tone, "to go about begging for my rent. However, I was willing to see if anything was to be got. If not, let her be prepared; to-morrow, the eighth of July, she must quit. At all events, her moving will not be a very heavy one!" Aloise trembled in every limb, at finding herself in the same room with this terrible landlord, of whom she had so often heard Janette speak, and whose manner was not calculated to tranquillize her fears. Not daring to address him herself, she whispered to her nurse, that she would go and ask her mamma for the louis. "But have you gained it?" said the nurse. "Oh! certainly," said Aloise, and yet she began to be very much afraid she had not. She drew herself in as much as possible, in order to pass between the door and the man who stood beside it, and who terrified her so much that she would not have dared to ask him to move. She ran quite flushed and breathless into her mother's room, and asked for the louis. "But does it belong to you?" said her mother. "I do not think it does." "Oh, mamma," replied Aloise, turning pale, "I have put away my work more than forty-eight times." "Yes, my child, but the days on which you have not put it away?" "Mamma, I have put it away very often, I assure you." "We shall see;" and Madame d'Auvray took the account from her secretary. "You have put it away sixty times," said she to her daughter. "You see, mamma!" cried Aloise, delighted. "Yes, but you have neglected it thirty-one times, for the month of May has thirty-one days." "Oh! mamma, that does not make...." "My dear! thirty-one days, at five sous a day, make seven livres fifteen sous, which are to be deducted from the thirty francs that you have gained. Thus thirty-five sous are still wanting to complete the louis." Aloise turned pale and clasped her hands. "Is it possible," she said, "that for thirty-five sous...." "My child," said her mother, "you remember your agreement with your father." "Oh! mamma! for thirty-five sous! and this poor Janette!" "You knew very well what would be the consequence," said her mother; "I can do nothing in the matter." Aloise wept bitterly. Her father coming in, asked the reason. Madame d'Auvray told him, and Aloise raised her hands towards him with supplicating looks. "My child," said M. d'Auvray, "when I make a bargain I keep to it, and I require that others should act in the same manner towards me. You have not chosen to fulfil the conditions of this agreement, therefore let us say no more about it." When M. d'Auvray had once said a thing, it was settled. Aloise did not dare to reply, but she remained weeping. "The horses are ready," said M. d'Auvray, "we must set off; come, go and fetch your bonnet." Aloise then knew that all hope was lost, and she could not restrain her sobs. "Go and get your bonnet," said her father in a firmer tone, and her mother led her gently to the door. She remained outside the room, leaning against the wall, unable to move a step, and crying most bitterly. Her nurse entered softly, and asked whether she had got the money, as the man was becoming impatient. Indeed Aloise heard him in the hall speaking to the servant, in the same surly ill-tempered tone. He said he had not time to wait; that it was very disagreeable and inconvenient to be sent there for nothing; and that Janette might rest assured she would have to be off pretty quickly. The tears of Aloise were redoubled; her nurse endeavoured to console her, and the old servant who was passing at the moment, not knowing the cause of her grief, told her that she was going to amuse herself in the country, and would soon forget her trouble. "To amuse myself!" cried Aloise, "to amuse myself!" And she remembered that during this time Janette would be in despair, and turned into the street with her three children. "Oh! dear," she exclaimed, "could they not have punished me in some other manner?" "Listen," said her nurse, "suppose you were to ask for some other punishment?" Aloise turned towards her a hesitating and frightened look. She saw very well that she was going to propose to her to give up her visit to the country; and although she promised herself very little pleasure from it, she had not the courage to renounce it. But the servant came to tell her that the man was tired of waiting, and was going away. And in fact she heard him open the door, saying in a loud voice, "She shall pay for having made me come here for nothing." Aloise with clasped hands, entreated the servant to run after him and stop him for a moment, and told her nurse to go and beg of her parents to change her punishment, and instead of it to deprive her of the pleasure of going into the country. The nurse having done so, Madame d'Auvray came out immediately and said to her daughter, "My child, our wish is not to punish you, but to fix in your mind something of consequence which we have not yet succeeded in impressing on it. Do you think the regret you will feel in not going into the country with us, will have sufficient effect upon you, to make you remember to be a little more orderly in what you do?" "Oh! mamma," said Aloise, "I do assure you that the grief I have had, and that which I shall still have," she added, redoubling her tears, "in not going into the country, will make me well remember it." "Very well, then," said Madame d'Auvray, and she gave her the louis, which Aloise charged her nurse to carry to the man. As for herself, she remained leaning against the door, through which her mother had returned into her room. Her nurse, having ordered the kitchen-maid to follow the man, and carry the louis to Janette, found her there still crying; and told her that as she had taken her course, she ought to show more courage, and dry up her tears, and go and bid farewell to her parents, who would otherwise think she was sulking, which would not be proper. Aloise dried her eyes, and endeavouring to restrain herself, entered the room. As she approached her father, in order to kiss him, he took her on his knee, and said, "My dear Aloise, is there no way of engraving still more deeply on your memory, that which you ought not to forget?" Aloise looked at him. "Would it not be," he continued, "by taking you with us into the country, relying upon the promise which you will give us never again to forget to put your work away?" "Never!" said Aloise, with an agitated look; "but if I should forget it on some occasion?" "I am sure that you will not do so," replied her mother; "your promise, the recollection of our indulgence, all this will force you to remember it." "But, oh dear! oh dear! if after all I were to forget it!" "Well," said her father, kissing her, "we wish to force you to remember it." Aloise was greatly affected by all this kindness; but she felt tormented by the fear of not keeping the promise on which her parents relied; and whilst her nurse, who had heard what was said, ran joyfully to fetch her bonnet, she remained pensive, leaning against the window. At length, turning eagerly to her mother, "Mamma," she said, "I will beg of God every day in my prayers to give me grace to keep my promise." "That will be an excellent means," replied her mother, "make use of it at once;" and Aloise raised her eyes to heaven and her heart to God, and felt encouraged. Nevertheless she preserved throughout the day, amidst the amusements of the country, something of the emotions which had agitated her in the morning. At night she did not forget to renew her prayer; the next morning she thought of it on waking, and in order not to forget it, she imposed upon herself the rule of attending to it before she did anything else. She succeeded, by this means, in impressing upon her mind the duty prescribed to her. Once only, did she seem on the point of going away without arranging her work. "Aloise," said her mother, "have you said your prayers this morning?" This question reminded her both of her prayer, which, indeed, for some time past, she had said with less attention, as she now thought herself secure, and also of her promise, which she had run the risk of forgetting; and she was so much terrified that she never again fell into the same danger. One day when her mother was speaking to her about the manner in which she had corrected herself, she said timidly, "But, mamma, in order to correct me, you surely would not have had the heart to allow poor Janette to be turned out of doors?" Her mother smiled and said, "You must at all events allow that you are at present very happy for having been afraid of this." Aloise assented. The louis d'or had enabled her to acquire a good habit, from which she derived more advantages than she had at first expected; for the money which she saved, by not having constantly to replace things lost through carelessness, gave her the means of doing something additional for Janette, for whom also work was found, as well as various little commissions, so that she and her children were no longer in danger of dying of hunger, or of being turned out of their miserable garret. Here M. de Cideville, being obliged to go out, interrupted his narrative, deferring its continuation to another day. CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR M. de Cideville having one day, of his own accord, continued the history of the louis d'or, said to his daughter, You have already seen, by the several adventures which I have related, of what importance may be, under certain circumstances, a sum apparently so trifling as a louis d'or. You will soon see all the advantages which may be derived from it; but I must first tell you in what manner it passed out of the hands of the landlord, to whom Janette had given it in payment of her rent. This landlord was a shoemaker; his house was very small, very disagreeable, and very dirty, as may be imagined by the sum paid by Janette for rent, and he was himself the porter. He was very avaricious, and would not go to the expense of keeping it in a moderately decent condition, or even of repairing it, so that it was occupied only by very poor people, or by those who had been guilty of bad actions, for, provided his tenants paid him, he did not trouble himself about their honesty. There was one among them, named Roch, whom he knew to be a rogue, and who had several times concealed stolen goods. The shoemaker shut his eyes to this, because on these occasions he almost always received some little present. One day, as the shoemaker was looking in the narrow court, which separated his house from that of his neighbour, for old pieces of linen sometimes thrown there, and of which, after having washed them, he made use as linings for his shoes, he stooped down to pick up one of them, when his pipe, which he had in his mouth, caught in something, and slipping from him, fell through a grating into his neighbour's cellar. He would have been glad to have gone and asked for it, but he did not dare to do so, for misers are always ashamed of those actions which their avarice leads them to commit. Whilst leaning over the grating, in the hope that it might have lodged on the slope of the wall within, and that he should be able to regain it, there suddenly burst from the opening such a volume of smoke, that he was nearly stifled. The pipe had fallen upon some straw, recently unpacked, and which, not having yet imbibed the damp of the cellar, caught fire almost immediately. The shoemaker knew very well what was likely to follow, and ran away, in order that he might not be suspected as the cause of the mischief; but trembling for his own house, to which the fire might extend, he gave an alarm, saying that he perceived a strong smell of smoke; and in order that assistance might be promptly rendered, he guided the people so well in the direction of the fire, that the truth was immediately suspected. The flames quickly spread to a heap of faggots, thence to a quantity of goods which were near, and before there was time to suppress them, they had injured the building. The landlord entered a process against the shoemaker, in order to make him pay the damages, saying that it was he who had set the place on fire, which, indeed, there was every reason for suspecting. It was known that he was in the habit of searching in the court for rags, and suchlike things, that happened to be thrown from the windows. There had also been found in the ashes underneath the grating and on the spot occupied by the heap of straw, the remains of a pipe which had not been consumed. It was observed that when the shoemaker gave the information, he was without his pipe, a thing quite extraordinary for him. He was also known to have bought a new one on the same day, and every one was aware that he was not a man to buy a new pipe if he had an old one in his possession. It was then more than probable that it was his pipe which had fallen into the cellar, and set it on fire. Besides, two persons believed that they had seen him, from a distance, going out of the court. The shoemaker had nothing to oppose to these charges, but the assertion that he was not on the spot when the place took fire; but in order to have this assertion received, he must find witnesses who would consent to give a false testimony. He thought Roch might do him this service, and he reminded him of all the indulgence which he had granted to him. Roch made no objections; he was so great a knave, that he seemed to take a pleasure in doing what was wrong. He simply demanded, as the reward of this service, that the shoemaker should introduce and recommend him, as a servant, to M. de la Fere, a gentleman for whom the shoemaker worked, and who at that time was in want of a servant. Roch was very desirous of getting this place, but quite at a loss as to the means of doing so, as he could find no one willing to give him a character. The shoemaker consented; for we can never ask others to do what is wrong for us without being obliged to do at least as much for them in return. But two witnesses were requisite. Roch undertook to procure another, on condition that the shoemaker should give him a louis d'or.