CHAPTER XV
FAITHFUL FRIENDS
We were still a long way from Paris. We had to go by roads covered withsnow, and walk from morning till night, the north wind blowing in ourfaces. How sad and weary were those long tramps.
Vitalis walked ahead, I at his heels, and Capi behind me. Thus in linewe went onward without exchanging a word, for hours and hours, facesblue with cold, feet wet, stomachs empty. The people who passed us onthe way turned round to gaze at us. Evidently they thought itstrange.... Where was this old man leading his child and the dog?
The silence seemed terrible to me, and so sad. I would liked to havetalked just for company, but when I did venture to make a remark,Vitalis replied briefly, without even turning his head. Fortunately,Capi was more sociable, and as I trudged along I often felt his warmtongue on my hand. He licked me as much as to say, "Your friend, Capi,is here with you." Then I stroked him gently, without stopping. Weunderstood each other; we loved each other.
On the slippery snow we went straight ahead, without stopping, sleepingat night in a stable or in a sheepfold, with a piece of bread, alas,very small, for our meal in the evening. This was our dinner and supperin one.
We did not tell the shepherds that we were dying of hunger, but Vitalis,with his usual cleverness, would say insinuatingly that "the little chapwas very fond of sheep's milk, because, when he was a baby, he used todrink it." This story did not always take effect, but it was a goodnight for me when it did. Yes, I was very fond of sheep's milk and whenthey gave me some I felt much stronger the next day.
It seemed strange to me that, as we neared Paris, the country ceased tobe beautiful. The snow was not white and dazzling now. I had heard whata wonderful place Paris was, and I expected something extraordinary. Idid not know exactly what. I should not have been surprised to see treesof gold, streets of marble, palaces everywhere.
What were we poor things going to do when we reached Paris? I wanted toquestion Vitalis, but I did not dare, he seemed so gloomy. When we werein sight of the roofs and the church towers of the capital, he slackenedhis step to walk beside me.
"Remi," he said suddenly, "we are going to part when we get to Paris."
I looked at him. He looked at me. The sudden pallor of my face and thetrembling of my lips told him what effect his words had on me. For amoment I could not speak.
"Going to part!" I murmured at last.
"Poor little chap, yes, we must part."
The tone in which he said this brought the tears to my eyes. It was solong since I had heard a kind word.
"Oh, you are so good," I cried.
"It is you who are good. You brave little heart. There comes a time inone's life when one feels these things. When all goes well, one goesalong through life without thinking much who is with one, but whenthings go wrong, when one is on the wrong track, and above all when oneis old, one wants to lean on somebody. You may be surprised that I havewanted to lean on you. And yet it is so. But only to see that your eyesare moist as you listen to me, comforts me, little Remi. I am veryunhappy."
I did not know what to say. I just stroked his hand.
"And the misfortune is that we have to part just at the time when we aregetting nearer to each other."
"But you're not going to leave me all alone in Paris?" I asked timidly.
"No, certainly not. What would you do in the big city, all by yourself,poor child. I have no right to leave you, remember that. The day when Iwould not let that good lady take you and bring you up as her son, thatday I bound myself to do the best I could for you. I can do nothing atthis moment, and that is why I think it is best to part. It is only fora time. We can do better if we separate during the last months of thebad season. What can we do in Paris with all gone but Capi?"
Hearing his name mentioned, dear Capi came beside us: he put his paw tohis ear in military salute, then placed it on his heart, as though totell us that we could count on his devotion. My master stopped to passhis hand affectionately over the dog's head.
"Yes, Capi, you're a good, faithful friend, but, alas! without theothers we can't do much now."
"But my harp...."
"If I had two children like you it would be better. But an old man withjust one little boy is bad business. I am not old enough. Now, if I wereonly blind or broken down! I am not in a pitiful state enough for peopleto stop and notice us. So, my boy, I have decided to give you to a_padrone_, until the end of the winter. He will take you with otherchildren that he has, and you will play your harp...."
"And you?" I asked.
"I am known in Paris, I have stayed there several times. I will giveviolin lessons to the Italian children who play on the streets. I haveonly to say that I will give lessons to find all the pupils I want. And,in the meantime, I will train two dogs that will replace poor Zerbinoand Dulcie. Then in the spring we will be together again, my littleRemi. We are only passing through a bad time now; later, I will take youthrough Germany and England, then you will grow big and your mind willdevelop. I will teach you a lot of things and make a man of you. Ipromised this to Mrs. Milligan. I will keep my promise. That is thereason why I have already commenced to teach you English. You can speakFrench and Italian, that is something for a child of your age."
Perhaps it was all for the best as my master said, but I could onlythink of two things.
We were to be parted, and I was to have a _padrone_.
During our wanderings I had met several _padrones_ who used to beat thechildren who worked for them. They were very cruel, and they swore, andusually they were drunk. Would I belong to one of those terrible men?
And then, even if fate gave me a kind master, it was another change.First, my foster mother, then Vitalis, then another.... Was it to bealways so? Should I never find anyone that I could love and stay withalways? Little by little I had grown attached to Vitalis. He seemedalmost what I thought a father would be. Should I never have a father,have a family? Always alone in this great world! Nobody's boy!
Vitalis had asked me to be brave. I did not wish to add to his sorrows,but it was hard, so hard, to leave him.
As we walked down a dirty street, with heaps of snow on either sidecovered with cinders and rotten vegetables, I asked: "Where are we?"
"In Paris, my boy."
Where were my marble houses? And the trees of gold, and the finelydressed people. Was this Paris! Was I to spend the winter in a placelike this, parted from Vitalis and Capi?