"At these words, uttered with a heart-rending accent, a worthy old clothes-dealer of the Temple, who was amongst the spectators, exclaimed, with a kindly air: `No father nor mother! Do not grieve so, my poor little fellow; the Temple can supply everything.We will mend the harness, and, if my gossips are like me, you shall not go away bareheaded or barefooted in such weather as this.'
"This proposition was greeted with acclamation; they led away both horse and child; some were occupied in mending the harness, then one supplied a cap, another a pair of stockings, another some shoes, and another a good jacket; in a quarter of an hour the child was warmly clad, the harness repaired, and a tall lad of eighteen, brandishing a whip, which he cracked close to the horse's ears, by way of warning, said to the little boy, who, gazing first at his new clothes, and then at the good woman, believed himself the hero of a fairy-tale.`Where does your governor live, little 'un?'
"`On the Quai du Canal-Saint-Martin, sir,' answered he, in a voice trembling with joy.
"`Very good,' said the young man, `I will help you take home the horse, who will go well enough with me, and I will tell the master that the delay was no fault of your'n.A balky horse ought not to be trusted to a child of your age.'
"At the moment of setting out, the poor little fellow said timidly to the good dame, as he took off his cap to her: `Will you let me kiss you, ma'am?'
"His eyes were full of tears of gratitude.There was heart in that child.This scene of popular charity gave me delightful emotions.
As long as I could, I followed with my eyes the tall young man and the child, who now could hardly keep up with the pace of the horse, rendered suddenly docile by fear of the whip.
"Yes! I repeat it with pride; man is naturally good and helpful.
Nothing could have been more spontaneous than this movement of pity and tenderness in the crowd, when the poor little fellow exclaimed: `What will become of me? I have no father or mother!'
"`Unfortunate child!' said I to myself.`No father nor mother.In the hands of a brutal master, who hardly covers him with a few rags, and ill-
treats him into the bargain.Sleeping, no doubt in the corner of a stable.Poor little, fellow! and yet so mild and good, in spite of misery and misfortune.I saw it--he was even more grateful than pleased at the service done him.But perhaps this good natural disposition, abandoned without support or counsel, or help, and exasperated by bad treatment, may become changed and embittered--and then will come the age of the passions--the bad temptations--'
"Oh! in the deserted poor, virtue is doubly saintly and respectable!
"This morning, after having (as usual) gently reproached me for not going to mass, Agricola's mother said to me these words, so touching in her simple and believing mouth, `Luckily, I pray for you and myself too, my poor girl; the good God will hear me, and you will only go, I hope, to Purgatory.'
"Good mother; angelic soul! she spoke those words in so grave and mild a tone, with so strong a faith in the happy result of her pious intercession, that I felt my eyes become moist, and I threw myself on her neck, as sincerely grateful as if I had believed in Purgatory.This day has been a lucky one for me.I hope I have found work, which luck I shall owe to a young person full of heart and goodness, she is to take me to-morrow to St.Mary's Convent, where she thinks she can find me employment."
Florine, already much moved by the reading, started at this passage in which Mother Bunch alluded to her, ere she continued as follows:
"Never shall I forget with what touching interest, what delicate benevolence, this handsome young girl received me, so poor, and so unfortunate.It does not astonish me, for she is attached to the person of Mdlle.de Cardoville.She must be worthy to reside with Agricola's benefactress.It will always be dear and pleasant to me to remember her name.It is graceful and pretty as her face; it is Florine.I am nothing, I have nothing--but if the fervent prayers of a grateful heart might be heard, Mdlle.Florine would be happy, very happy.Alas! I am reduced to say prayers for her--only prayers--for I can do nothing but remember and love her!"
These lines, expressing so simply the sincere gratitude of the hunchback, gave the last blow to Florine's hesitations.She could no longer resist the generous temptation she felt.As she read these last fragments of the journal, her affection and respect for Mother Bunch made new progress.More than ever she felt how infamous it was in her to expose to sarcasms and contempt the most secret thoughts of this unfortunate creature.Happily, good is often as contagious as evil.Electrified by all that was warm, noble, and magnanimous in the pages she had just read, Florine bathed her failing virtue in that pure and vivifying source, and, yielding, at last to one of those good impulses which sometimes carried her away, she left the room with the manuscript in her hand, determined, if Mother Bunch had not yet returned, to replace it--resolved to tell Rodin that, this second time, her search for the journal had been vain, the sempstress having no doubt discovered the first attempt.
[26] In the Ruche Populaire, a working man's organ, are the following particulars:
"Carding Mattresses.--The dust which flies out of the wool makes carding destructive to health in any case, but trade adulterations enhance the danger.In sticking sheep, the skin gets blood-spotted; it has to be bleached to make it salable.Lime is the main whitener, and some of it clings to the wool after the process.The dresser (female, most often)
breathes in the fine dust, and, by lung and other complaints, is far from seldom deplorably situated; the majority sicken of it and give up the trade, while those who keep to it, at the very least, suffer with a catarrh or asthma that torments them until death.
"As for horsehair, the very best is not pure.You can judge what the inferior quality is, from the workgirls calling it vitriol hair, because it is the refuse or clippings from goats and swine, washed in vitriol, boiled in dyes, etc., to burn and disguise such foreign bodies as straw.
thorns, splinters, and even bits of skin, not worth picking out.The dust rising when a mass of this is beaten, makes as many ravages as the lime-wool."
