Read Ebook: The Flower Girl of The Château d'Eau v.1 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume XV) by Kock Paul De

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Ebook has 2223 lines and 74641 words, and 45 pages

"Ah! that sm--smells nasty!"

This time Madame Glumeau hastily dragged her daughter away, saying in her ear:

"Why, Eolinde, do you want to get into a row and have scenes with all these flower women? You shouldn't say such things as that, my girl, especially when you don't buy; and if you won't decide upon what you want, we will go away and you won't have a flower to give your father, who is so fond of them. That will be very nice on his birthday!"

"If you will take my advice, sister," said Monsieur Astianax, "you'll give our father a pot of immortelles, because you see the immortelle means that he will live a long time, and the allusion is easily understood."

"A pot of immortelles!" cried the mother; "they are lovely flowers, upon my word! You are mad, Astianax! You might as well give your father a pot of sweet-basil such as the cobblers have in their stalls.--Look, Eolinde, there is a superb rosebush! come, let us buy that,--that will be your bouquet."

"Oh! but a ro--o--osebush; I wanted s--s--something else."

"That is to say, you don't know what you do want; and this unfortunate messenger who is following us with that huge pomegranate in his arms, looks as if he were swimming in perspiration."

"Why, it isn't so ve--ve--very hot, mamma!"

Madame Glumeau, paying no heed to the lamentations of her daughter, who did not want the rosebush, but did not know what she did want, ordered her messenger to take the flower, then turned to her son and said:

"Now, Astianax, you are the only one who has not chosen a flower, but I believe you told me that you preferred to give your father a bouquet to carry in the hand."

"But in what connection? Your father never has claimed to be a Turk, so far as I know! He won't have any idea what your bouquet means."

"I beg your pardon, dear mamma, I will explain the allusion to him."

"All right, but make haste; it seems to me that you might very well have selected your oriental bouquet while we were choosing our plants!"

"I've been looking, but haven't found what I want!"

"But there certainly is no lack of flower girls here. Ah! there is one who is very pretty indeed; if her bouquets resemble her, I think that you will find what you want."

VIOLETTE

Madame Glumeau had said nothing beyond the truth, when she observed that the flower girl to whom she pointed was very pretty, for she was speaking of Violette.

Let us then make Violette's acquaintance; it is always pleasant to know a pretty girl, even though she sells bouquets, but especially when she sells nothing else.

Violette was from eighteen to nineteen years of age; her figure was slender and shapely; she was tall enough but not too tall, which, in women, is rather a defect than an advantage; but there was grace in all her movements, and refinement in her simplicity.

Her face was oval; her fine brown hair left bare a forehead which was instinct with innocence and pride. Her eyes too were brown, but their expression was immeasurably sweet and they were fringed by long lashes which imparted to them an infinite charm; the eyebrows were but slightly marked. Her mouth was not very small, but it was intelligent; small mouths, which are unintelligent, of which there are so many, are not nearly so desirable. Lastly, her teeth were white and very regular. As you see, all these things must have combined to make a very pretty girl. Still there are many who possess all Violette's advantages, but whom we pass without being charmed by them; the reason is, that it is not always sufficient to be beautiful in order to attract; a woman must also have in herself that indefinable something which fascinates, which surprises, which allures, which gives expression to the face and charm to the voice. That something is a gift of nature, which coquetry tries in vain to supply, and the flower girl had that gift. Moreover, there was in her speech and in her manners something which distinguished her from her companions. She expressed herself in better language and she was always courteous, even when one did not buy of her. So that Violette was noticed first for her beauty and then for her courtesy. Courtesy is a thing so rare among street peddlers, and even elsewhere! There are so many people who think that they acquire the air of being somebody by affecting an insolent tone and a contemptuous glance! Poor fools! If they did not arouse laughter, they would arouse compassion.

But was this flower girl, who expressed herself in better language than others of her trade, the child of rich people stricken by misfortune? Was it to support destitute and infirm parents that that pretty girl had decided to take up a business for which she was not born?

Not at all. Violette did not know her parents, she did not know whether they still lived, but what she did know perfectly was that they had abandoned her.

Put out to nurse in a small village of Picardie, near Abbeville, she evidently possessed little interest for them, for they had forgotten to pay the woman who had undertaken to replace her mother. The nurse was patient for a long while, but after three years, hearing nothing from her nursling's parents, and being too poor to add a little stranger to her numerous family, the woman was about to leave the child at the Foundling Hospital, when an old lady who was passing through the village, touched with compassion for the deserted little one, offered the nurse to take charge of her and to take her to Paris with her.

The nurse assented, and took the lady's address, in order that she might write to her if the child's parents should ever claim her.

But who were her parents?

To the lady's question the peasant woman replied:

"Faith, I hardly know, or rather I don't know, at all. As to the mother, I am very sure I never saw her. I was at the nurses' bureau on Rue Sainte-Apolline; a fine gentleman--I guess he was a servant--came into the place, while I was taking the air in the yard; I was the first one he saw, and he asked me if I wanted to take a brat that was born the night before. I says yes; then he says: 'I don't need to look any further; you'll do as well as another; take your bundle and come.'--I went with him; there was a carriage at the door, and I got in with the swell servant. We drove to a street I don't know the name of, he took me into a house, with a concierge, and up to the second floor, into a handsome room. I found a gentleman there, very well dressed, a pretty man with a fine figure; he had a splendid gold chain sticking out of his fob. He was a young man, about thirty-two or thirty-three, more or less. And when he saw the man come in who had brought me there, he says:

"'Come, make haste, Comtois! I don't know what to do with the child! It has been crying until it has burst the drum of my ear, but I can't nurse it. Have you brought a nurse at last?'

"'Yes, monsieur, here's one who will take charge of the little girl.'

"'Ah! that is very lucky!'

"And with that the gentleman, without even looking at me to see how I was built and whether I had much milk, motioned to me to go with him into another room, where I saw a little girl, just come into the world, wriggling on a sofa with cushions; they didn't even have a cradle for her. The gentleman says to me:

"'Take this child and carry it away at once, for it cries enough to split one's head.'

"To that I answers:

"'It will be twenty francs a month, without counting sugar and soap!'

"'All right, that's understood,' he says; and he puts a hundred francs in my hand, saying: 'This is for the first expenses; don't you be afraid, I'll send you money, you shall have plenty of it.'

"At that I makes another reverence and says:

"'I am a Picarde, monsieur, from the village of Coulange, near Abbeville; my name is Marguerite Thomasseau; my husband raises donkeys, and we've had four nurslings already.'

"'All right, take this little one and go.'

"At that, the handsome gentleman looks at his swell servant as if he was surprised, and says:

"The servant who was better instructed than his master, says:

"'Monsieur, it is the child's trousseau, the little things that people give to dress it in.'

"'Oh! the devil! I didn't know that myself, and it seems she didn't think of it either! Never mind, Comtois, give her some of my trousers and waistcoats, give her my old dressing-gown and some linen; the nurse can make them over and we'll send her something else later. Make haste, Comtois. Here, put in this handkerchief too, which belongs to the child's mother, and which I put in my pocket by mistake yesterday.'

"'Well, monsieur, what's the little one's name, and yours, and your wife's?'

"At that the gentleman made a funny kind of face; he hesitated a long while, as if he was trying to think what answer he could make, and finally he said:

"'The child's name is Evelina--Evelina de Paulausky.--Now go; I will write to you.'

"At that he pushed me out with the child and the bundle. I started back the same day; and since then, and that was three years ago, not a word from the child's parents. Evelina they called her, but we found that name too long and too hard to pronounce, and so, as the child when she was a year old, loved violets and could pick them as she rolled about on the grass, why we just called her Violette; you can call her so too, if you choose. She answers to that name better than to Evelina!"

That is what the nurse had told the good woman who took Violette to Paris. That charitable person was by no means wealthy, but she had given the child some education. Violette had learned to read, to write, and to do some kinds of sewing, but her protectress died before she was very learned. The child was only eleven when she lost her.

Being left alone and without resources, and having too much pride to beg her bread, she went from door to door, to all the people in the quarter, saying:

"Please give me something to do; I am able to work; I know how to knit and sew; I will do anything you want, but employ me, I beg you, for I would rather starve to death than beg and live on the charity of passers-by."

These words indicated a certain pride and a lofty spirit; they indicated above all else Violette's horror of idleness, which is the most dangerous of all faults. They were worth more than a letter of recommendation.

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