Other People's Money by Emile Gaboriau (ebook smartphone txt) 📕

she went out riding.  I helped to wait on her at table, and to dress her.  I picked up her handkerchief when she dropped it; and, above all, I looked for her snuff-box, which she was continually mislaying.

“She was pleased with my docility, took much interest in me, and, that I might read to her, she made me learn to read, for I hardly knew my letters.  And the old man whom she gave me for a teacher, finding me intelligent, taught me all he knew, I imagine, of French, of geography, and of history.

“The chambermaid, on the other hand, had been commissioned to teach me to sew, to embroider, and to execute all sorts of fancy-work; and she took the more interest in her lessons, that little by little she shifted upon me the most tedious part of her work.

“I would have been happy in that pretty house at La Jonchere, if I had only had some society better suited to my age than the old women with whom I was compelled to live, and who scolded me for a loud word or a somewhat abrupt gesture.  What would I not have given to have been allowed to play with the young girls whom I saw on Sundays passing in crowds along the road!

“As time went on, my old mistress became more and more attached to me, and endeavored in every way to give me proofs of her affection.  I sat at table with her, instead of waiting on her, as at first.  She had given me clothes, so that she could take me and introduce me anywhere.

“She went about repeating everywhere that she was as fond of me as of a daughter; that she intended to set me up in life; and that certainly she would leave a part of her fortune to me.

“Alas!  She said it too loud, for my misfortune,—so loud, that the news reached at last the ears of some nephews of hers in Paris, who came once in a while to La Jonchere.

“They had never paid much attention to me up to this time.  Those speeches opened their eyes:  they noticed what progress I had made in the heart of their relative; and their cupidity became alarmed.

“Trembling lest they should lose an inheritance which they considered as theirs, they united against me, determined to put a stop to their aunt’s generous intentions by having me sent off.

“But it was in vain, that, for nearly a year, their hatred exhausted itself in skillful manoeuvres.

“The instinct of preservation stimulating my perspicacity I had penetrated their intentions, and I was struggling with all my might.  Every day, to make myself more indispensable, I invented some novel attention.

“They only came once a week to La Jonchere:  I was there all the time.  I had the advantage.  I struggled successfully, and was probably approaching the end of my troubles, when my poor old mistress was taken sick.  After forty-eight hours, she was very low.  She was fully conscious, but for that very reason she could appreciate the danger; and the fear of death made her crazy.

“Her nieces had come to sit by her bedside; and I was expressly forbidden to enter the room.  They had understood that this was an excellent opportunity to get rid of me forever.

“Evidently gained in advance, the physicians declared to my poor benefactress that the air of La Jonchere was fatal to her, and that her only chance of recovery was to establish herself in Paris.  One of her nephews offered to have her taken to his house in a litter.  She would soon get well, they said; and she could then go to finish her convalescence in some southern city.

“Her first word was for me.  She did not wish to be separated from me, she protested, and insisted absolutely upon taking me with her.  Her nephews represented gravely to her that this was an impossibility; that she must not think of burdening herself with me; that the simplest thing was to leave me at La Jonchere; and that, moreover, they would see that I should get a good situation.

“The sick woman struggled for a long time, and with an energy of which I would not have thought her capable.

“But the others were pressing.  The physicians kept repeating that they could not answer for any thing, if she did not follow their advice.  She was afraid of death.  She yielded, weeping.

“The very next morning, a sort of litter, carried by eight men, stopped in front of the door.  My poor mistress was laid into it; and they carried her off, without even permitting me to kiss her for the last time.

“Two hours later, the cook and the chambermaid were dismissed.  As to myself, the nephew who had promised to look after me put a twenty-franc-piece in my hand saying, ‘Here are your eight days in advance.  Pack up your things immediately, and clear out!’”

It was impossible that Mlle. Lucienne should not be deeply moved whilst thus stirring the ashes of her past.  She showed no evidence of it, however, except, now and then, a slight alteration in her voice.

As to Maxence, he would vainly have tried to conceal the passionate interest with which he was listening to these unexpected confidences.

“Have you, then, never seen your benefactress again?” he asked.

“Never,” replied Mlle. Lucienne.  “All my efforts to reach her have proved fruitless.  She does not live in Paris now.  I have written to her:  my letters have remained without answer.  Did she ever get them?  I think not.  Something tells me that she has not forgotten me.”

She remained silent for a few moments, as if collecting herself before resuming the thread of her narrative.  And then,

“It was thus brutally,” she resumed, “that I was sent off.  It would have been useless to beg, I knew; and, moreover, I have never known how to beg.  I piled up hurriedly in two trunks and in some bandboxes all I had in the world,—all I had received from the generosity of my poor mistress; and, before the stated hour, I was ready.  The cook and the chambermaid had already gone.  The man who was treating me so cruelly was waiting for me.  He helped me carry out my boxes and trunks, after which he locked the door, put the key in his pocket; and, as the American omnibus was passing, he beckoned to it to stop.  And then, before entering it,

“‘Good luck, my pretty girl!’ he said with a laugh.

“This was in the month of January, 1866.  I was just thirteen.  I have had since more terrible trials, and I have found myself in much more desperate situations:  but I do not remember ever feeling such intense discouragement as I did that day, when I found myself alone upon that road, not knowing which way to go.  I sat down on one of my trunks.  The weather was cold and gloomy:  there were few persons on the road.  They looked at me, doubtless wondering what I was doing there.  I wept.  I had a vague feeling that the well-meant kindness of my poor benefactress, in bestowing upon me the blessings of education, would in reality prove a serious impediment in the life-struggle which I was about to begin again.  I thought of what I