shouted outside the door so that they could be heard in the neighbouring house. Mother Tuvache finally believed herself superior to the whole countryside because she had not sold Charlot. Those who spoke of her used to say:
“I know, of course, that it was a tempting offer; yet, she behaved like a real mother.”
She was cited as a model and Charlot, who was nearly eighteen, brought up with this idea, which was constantly repeated, thought himself superior to his comrades because he had not been sold.
The Vallins lived comfortably, thanks to the pension. That was the cause of the unappeasable fury of the Tuvaches, who had remained miserably poor. Their eldest went away to serve his time in the army; Charlot alone remained to labour with his old father, to support the mother and two younger sisters.
He had reached twenty-one years when, one morning, a brilliant carriage stopped before the two cottages. A young gentleman, with a gold watch-chain, got out, giving his hand to an aged, white-haired lady. The old lady said to him: “It is there, my child, at the second house.” And he entered the house of the Vallins as if he were at home.
The old mother was washing her aprons; the infirm father was asleep in the chimney-corner. Both raised their heads, and the young man said:
“Good morning, papa; good morning, mamma!”
They both stood up, frightened! In a flutter, the peasant woman dropped her soap into the water, and stammered:
“Is it you, my child? Is it you, my child?”
He took her in his arms and hugged her, repeating: “Good morning, mamma,” while the old man, all trembling, said, in the calm tone which he never lost: “Here you are, back again, Jean,” as if he had just seen him a month ago.
When they had recognized each other again, the parents wished to take their boy out in the neighbourhood, and show him. They took him to the mayor, to the deputy, to the priest, and to the schoolmaster.
Charlot, standing on the threshold of his cottage, watched him pass.
In the evening, at supper, he said to the old people: “You must have been stupid to let the Vallins’ boy be taken.”
The mother answered, obstinately: “I wouldn’t sell my child.”
The father remained silent. The son continued:
“It is unfortunate to be sacrificed like that.”
Then Father Tuvache, in an angry tone, said:
“Are you going to reproach us for having kept you?” And the young man said, brutally:
“Yes, I reproach you for having been such fools. Parents like you cause the misfortune of children. You deserve that I should leave you.”
The old woman wept over her plate. She moaned, as she swallowed the spoonfuls of soup, half of which she spilled: “One may kill oneself to bring up children!”
Then the boy said, roughly: “I’d rather not have been born than be what I am. When I saw the other fellow, my heart stood still. I said to myself: ‘See what I should have been now!’ ” He got up: “See here, I feel that I would do better not to stay here, because I would throw it in your faces from morning till night, and I would make your life miserable. I’ll never forgive you for that!”
The two old people were silent, downcast, in tears.
He continued: “No, the thought of that would be too much. I’d rather look for a living somewhere else.”
He opened the door. The sound of voices entered. The Vallins were celebrating the return of their child.
Then Charlot stamped with rage, and, turning to his parents, he shouted:
“You silly yokels!”
And he disappeared into the night.
A Million
It was a modest clerk’s household. The husband, who was employed in a Government office, was conventional and painstaking, and he always was very careful in the discharge of his duties. His name was Léopold Bonnin. He was a mediocre young man who held the right opinions about everything. He had been brought up a Christian, but he was inclined to be less religious since the country had begun to move in the direction of the separation of Church and State. He would say in loud tones at the office: “I am a believer, a true believer, but I believe in God, not in the clergy.” His greatest claim was that he was an honest man. He would strike his chest as he said so. And he was an honest man, in the most humdrum sense of the word. He arrived punctually at his office and left as punctually. He never idled and was always very straight in “money matters.” He had married the daughter of one of his poor colleagues, whose sister, however, was worth a million, having been married for love. She had had no children, which was a deep disappointment for her, and, consequently, she had no one to whom she could leave her money except her niece. This legacy was the constant preoccupation of the family. It haunted the house, and even the office. It was known that “the Bonnins would come in for a million.”
The young couple were also childless, a fact which did not distress them in the least, as they were perfectly satisfied with their humdrum, narrow life. Their home was well-kept, clean and thrifty; they were both very placid and moderate in all things, and they firmly believed that a child would upset their lives, and interfere with their habits.
They would not have endeavoured to remain without heirs; but, since Heaven had not blessed them in that particular respect, they thought it was no doubt for the best.
The wealthy aunt, however, was not to be consoled, and was profuse with practical advice. Years ago, she had vainly tried a number of methods recommended by clairvoyants and her women friends, and since she had reached the age where all thought of offspring had to be abandoned, she had heard of many more, which she supposed to be unfailing, and which she persisted in revealing to her niece. Every now and then she
