Nobody's Girl Part 16

Perrine stopped short in amazement, whilst Rosalie continue to step out.

This made them jolt the basket, whereupon Rosalie plumped it down on the ground and stretched herself.

"Ah, you think that fine, don't you?" said Rosalie, following Perrine's glance.

"Why, it's beautiful," said Perrine, softly.

"Well, old Monsieur Vulfran lives there all alone. He's got a dozen servants to wait on him, without counting the gardeners and stablemen who live in those quarters over there at the end of the park. That place over there is the electric power house for lighting up the chateau. Fine, ain't it? And you should see the inside! There's gold everywhere, and velvets, and such carpets! Them nephews want to live there with him, but he won't have 'em. He even eats his meals all alone."

They took up the basket and went on again. Soon they saw a general view of the works. But to Perrine's eyes there seemed only a confusion of buildings, some old, some new, just a great gray ma.s.s with big, tall chimneys everywhere. Then they came to the first houses of the village, with apple trees and pear trees growing in the gardens. Here was the village of which her father had spoken so often.

What struck her most was the number of people she saw. Groups of men, women and children dressed up in their Sunday clothes stood chatting before the houses or sat in the low rooms, the windows of which were thrown wide open.

A ma.s.s of people, people everywhere. In the low-ceiling rooms, where those from outside could see all that was pa.s.sing within, some were drinking bright colored drinks, others had jugs of cider, while others had on the tables before them black coffee or whisky. And what a tapping of gla.s.ses and voices raised in angry dispute!

"What a lot of people there seem to be drinking," said Perrine.

"That's because it's Sunday. They got two weeks' pay yesterday. They can't always drink like this; you'll see."

What was characteristic of most of the houses was that nearly all, although old and badly built of brick or wood, affected an air of coquetry, at least in the painting that embellished the doors and windows. This attracted the eye like a sign. And in truth it was a sign, for in default of other preparations, the bright paint gave a promise of cleanliness which a glance at the inside of the place belied at once.

"We've arrived," said Rosalie, pointing with her free hand to a small red brick house which stood a little way from the road, behind a ragged hedge. Adjoining the house was a store where general provisions were sold, and also liquor. The floors above were rented to the best lodgers, and behind the house was a building which was rented out to the factory hands. A little gate in the hedge led to a small garden planted with apple trees and to a gravel walk leading to the house.

As soon as Rosalie and Perrine entered the yard, a woman, still young, called out from the doorway: "Hurry up, you slow coach! Say, you take a time to go to Picquigny, don't you?"

"That's my Aunt Zen.o.bie," whispered Rosalie; "she's none too nice."

"What yer whispering there?" yelled the disagreeable woman.

"I said that if somebody hadn't been there to help carry this basket I wouldn't be here by now," retorted Rosalie.

"You'd better hold your tongue!"

These words were uttered in such a shrill tone that they brought a tall old woman to the door.

"Who are you going on at now, Zen.o.bie?" she asked, calmly.

"She's mad 'cause I'm late, grandmother; but the basket's awful heavy,"

said Rosalie.

"There, there!" said the grandmother, placidly; "put it down and go and get your supper; you'll find it kept warm on the stove."

"You wait for me here in the yard," said Rosalie to Perrine; "I'll be out in a minute and we'll have supper together. You go and buy your bread. You'll find the baker in the third house on the left. Hurry up."

When Perrine returned she found Rosalie seated at a table under a big apple tree. On the table were two plates full of meat stew and potatoes.

"Sit down and share my stew," said Rosalie.

"But ..." hesitated Perrine.

"You don't like to take it; you can. I asked my grandmother, and it's all right."

In that case Perrine thought that she should accept this hospitality, so she sat down at the table opposite her new friend.

"And it's all arranged about your lodging here," said Rosalie, with her mouth full of stew. "You've only to give your twenty-eight sous to grandmother. That's where you'll be."

Rosalie pointed to a house a part of which could be seen at the end of the yard; the rest of it was hidden by the brick house. It looked such a dilapidated old place that one wondered how it still held together.

"My grandmother lived there before she built this house," explained Rosalie. "She did it with the money that she got when she was nurse for Monsieur Edmond. You won't be comfortable down there as you would in this house, but factory hands can't live like rich people, can they?"

Perrine agreed that they could not.

At another table, standing a little distance from theirs, a man about forty years of age, grave, stiff, wearing a coat b.u.t.toned up and a high hat, was reading a small book with great attention.

"That's Mr. Bendit; he's reading his Bible," whispered Rosalie.

Then suddenly, with no respect for the gentleman's occupation, she said: "Monsieur Bendit, here's a girl who speaks English."

"Ah!" he said, without raising his eyes from his Bible.

Two minutes elapsed before he lifted his eyes and turned them to Perrine.

"Are you an English girl?" he asked in English.

"No, but my mother was," replied Perrine in the same language.

Without another word he went on with his reading.

They were just finis.h.i.+ng their supper when a carriage coming along the road stopped at the gate.

"Why, it's Monsieur Vulfran in his carriage!" cried Rosalie, getting up from her seat and running to the gate.

Perrine did not dare leave her place, but she looked towards the road.

Two people were in the buggy. A young man was driving for an old man with white hair, who, although seated, seemed to be very tall. It was M.

Paindavoine.

Rosalie went up to the buggy.

"Here is someone," said the young man, who was about to get out.

"Who is it?" demanded M. Paindavoine.

It was Rosalie who replied to this question.

"It's Rosalie, monsieur," she said.

"Tell your grandmother to come and speak to me," said the gentleman.

Rosalie ran to the house and came hurrying back with her grandmother.