CHAPTER IX
ONE SLEEPLESS NIGHT
After her new friend had left, Perrine would like to have still sat atthe table as though she were in her own place, but it was preciselybecause she was not in the place where she belonged that she felt shecould not. She had learned that the little garden was reserved for theboarders and that the factory hands were not privileged to sit there.She could not see any seats near the old tumble-down house where she wasto lodge, so she left the table and sauntered down the village street.
Although she went at a slow step, she had soon walked down all thestreets, and as everyone stared at her, being a stranger, this hadprevented her from stopping when she had wanted to.
On the top of the hill opposite the factories she had noticed a wood.Perhaps she would be alone there and could sit down without anyonepaying attention to her.
She climbed the hill, then stretched herself out on the grass and lookeddown over the village ... her father's birthplace, which he haddescribed so often to her mother and herself.
She had arrived at Maraucourt! This name, which she had repeated sooften since she had trod on French soil, the name she had seen on thebig vans standing outside the Gates of Paris. This was not a country ofdreams. She was in Maraucourt; before her she could see the vast workswhich belonged to her grandfather. He had made his fortune here, bit bybit, sou by sou, until now he was worth millions.
Her eyes wandered from the great chimneys to the railway tracks, whereall was quiet on this Sabbath day, to the winding streets and the quainthouses with their tiled or thatched roofs. Amongst the very old housesthere was one which seemed more pretentious than the others. It stood ina large garden in which there were great trees and a terrace, and at theremote corner of the garden a wash-house.
That house had been described to her so many times, she recognized it. Itwas the one in which her grandfather had lived before he had built thebeautiful chateau. How many hours her father, when a boy, had spent in thatwash-house on washing days, listening to the washerwomen's chatter and tothe stories they told, quaint old legends. He had remembered them all thoseyears, and later on had told them to his little daughter. There was the"Fairy of the Cascade", "The Whirling Dwarf", and lots of others. Sheremembered them all, and her dead father had listened to the old womentelling them at that very spot down there by the river.
The sun was in her eyes now, so she changed her place. She found anothergrassy nook and sat down again, very thoughtful. She was thinking ofher future, poor little girl.
She was sure of getting work now, and bread and a place in which tosleep, but that was not all. How would she ever be able to realize herdead mother's hopes? She trembled; it all seemed so difficult; but atleast she had accomplished one great thing in having reached Maraucourt.
She must never despair, never give up hope, and now that she had a roofover her head and ten sous a day, although not much, it was far betternow for her than a few days ago, when she had been penniless, famished,and had had no place where to lay her head.
She thought it would be wise, as she was beginning a new life on themorrow, that she should make a plan of what she should and what sheshould not say. But she was so ignorant of everything, and she soonrealized that this was a task beyond her. If her mother had reachedMaraucourt she would have known just what to have done. But she, poorlittle girl, had had no experience; she had not the wisdom nor theintelligence of a grown-up person; she was but a child, and alone.
This thought and the memory of her mother brought tears to her eyes. Shebegan to cry unrestrainedly.
"Mother, dear mother," she sobbed.
Then her mother's last words came to her: "I see ... I know that youwill be happy!"
Her mother's words might come true. Those who are at Death's door,their souls hovering between Heaven and earth, may have sometimes adivine knowledge of things which are not revealed to the living.
This burst of emotion, instead of making her more despondent, did hergood. After she had wiped her tears away she was more hopeful, and itseemed to her that the light evening breeze which fanned her cheek fromtime to time brought her a kiss from her mother, touching her wet cheeksand whispering to her her last words: "I see ... I know you will behappy."
And why should it not be so? Why should her mother not be near her,leaning over her at this moment like a guardian angel? For a long timeshe sat deep in thought. Her beautiful little face was very grave. Shewondered, would everything come out all right for her in the end?
Then mechanically her eye fell on a large cluster of marguerites. Shegot up quickly and picked a few, closing her eyes so as not to choose.
She came back to her place and, taking up one with a hand that shook,she commenced to pick off the petals, one at a time, saying: "I shallsucceed; a little; a lot; completely; not at all." She repeated thisvery carefully until there were only a few petals left on the lastflower.
How many, she did not want to count, for their number would have toldher the answer. So, with a heart beating rapidly, she quickly pulled offthe last petals.
"I shall succeed; a little; a lot; completely...."
At the same moment a warm breeze passed over her hair, over her lips. Itwas surely her mother's reply in a kiss, the tenderest that she had evergiven her.
The night fell. She decided to go. Already down the straight road as faras the river white vapors were rising, floating lightly around the greattrees. Here and there little lights from behind the windows of thehouses pierced the gathering darkness, and vague sounds broke thesilence of the peaceful Sabbath evening.
There was no need for her to stay out late now, for she had a roof tocover her and a bed to sleep in; besides, as she was to get up early thenext day to go to work, it would be better to go to bed early.
As she walked through the village she recognized that the noises thatshe had heard came from the cabarets. They were full. Men and women wereseated at the tables drinking. From the open door the odor of coffee,hot alcohol and tobacco filled the street as though it were a vast sink.
She passed one cabaret after another. There were so many that to everythree houses there was at least one in which liquor was sold. On hertramps along the high roads and through the various towns she had seenmany drinking places, but nowhere had she heard such words, so clear andshrill, as those which came confusedly from the low rooms.
When she reached Mother Francoise's garden she saw Mr. Bendit stillreading. Before him was a lighted candle, a piece of newspaper protectingthe light, around which the moths and mosquitoes flew. But he paid noattention to them, so absorbed was he in his reading.
Yet, as she was passing him, he raised his head and recognized her. For thepleasure of speaking in his own language, he spoke to her in English.
"I hope you'll have a good night's rest," he said.
"Thank you," she replied. "Good night, sir."
"Where have you been?" he continued in English.
"I took a walk as far as the woods," she replied in the same language.
"All alone?"
"Yes; I do not know anyone here."
"Then why don't you stay in and read. There is nothing better to do onSunday than read."
"I have no books."
"Oh! Well, I'll lend you. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Rosalie was seated in the doorway taking the fresh air.
"Do you want to go to bed now?" she asked.
"Yes, I'd like to," replied Perrine.
"I'll take you up there then, but first you'll have to arrange withgrandmother. Go to the cafe; she's there."
The matter, having been arranged by Rosalie and her grandmother beforehand,was quickly settled. Perrine laid her twenty-eight sous on the table andtwo sous extra for lighting for the week.
"So you are going to stay in our village, little one?" asked MotherFrancoise, with a kindly, placid air.
"Yes, if it is possible."
"You can do it if you'll work."
"That is all
I ask," replied Perrine.
"Well, that's all right. You won't stop at ten sous; you'll soon get afranc or perhaps two, then later on you'll marry a good workingmanwho'll earn three. Between you, that'll be five francs a day. With thatyou're rich ... if you don't drink; but one mustn't drink. It's a goodthing that M. Vulfran can give employment to the whole county. There isthe land, to be sure, but tilling ground can't provide a living to allwho have to be fed."
Whilst the old nurse babbled this advice with the importance and theauthority of a woman accustomed to having her word respected, Rosaliewas getting some linen from a closet, and Perrine, who, while listening,had been looking at her, saw that the sheets were made of a thick yellowcanvas. It was so long since she had slept in sheets that she ought tothink herself fortunate to get even these, hard though they were. LaRouquerie on her tramps had never spent money for a bed, and a long timeago the sheets they had in the wagon, with the exception of those keptfor her mother, had been sold or worn to rags.
She went with Rosalie across the yard where about twenty men, women andchildren were seated on a clump of wood or standing about, talking andsmoking, waiting for the hour to retire. How could all these people livein the old house, which seemed far from large?
At the sight of the attic, after Rosalie had lit a candle stuck behind awire trellis, Perrine understood. In a space of six yards long and alittle more than three wide, six beds were placed along the length ofthe walls, and the passage between the beds was only one yard wide. Sixpeople, then, had to spend the night in a place where there was scarcelyroom for two. Although a little window opened on the yard opposite thedoor, there was a rank, sharp odor which made Perrine gasp. But she saidnothing.
"Well," said Rosalie, "you think it's a bit small, eh?"
"Yes, it is, rather," was all she said.
"Four sous a night is not one hundred sous, you know," remarked Rosalie.
"That is true," answered Perrine, with a smothered sigh.
After all, it was better for her to have a place in this tiny room thanbe out in the woods and fields. If she had been able to endure the odorin Grain-of-Salt's shack, she would probably be able to bear it here.
"There's your bed," said Rosalie, pointing to one placed near thewindow.
What she called a bed was a straw mattress placed on four feet and heldtogether by two boards. Instead of a pillow there was a sack.
"You know," said Rosalie, "this is fresh straw; they never give oldstraw to anyone to sleep on. In the hotels they do that sort of thing,but we don't here."
Although there were too many beds in the little room, there was not onechair.
"There are some nails on the walls," said Rosalie, in reply to Perrine'squestioning look; "you can hang your clothes up there."
There were also some boxes and baskets under the bed. If the lodgers hadany underwear they could make use of these, but as Perrine had only whatshe was wearing, the nail at the head of the bed was sufficient.
"They're all honest here," remarked Rosalie, "and if La Noyelle talks inthe night it's 'cause she's been drinking; she's a chatterbox. Tomorrowyou get up with the others. I'll tell you where you have to go to wash.Good night."
"Good night, and thank you," replied Perrine.
She hurriedly undressed, thankful that she was alone and would not haveto submit to the inquisitive regards of the other occupants of the room.But when she was between the sheets she did not feel so comfortable asshe had hoped, for they were very rough and hard. But then the groundhad seemed very hard the first time she had slept on it, and she hadquickly grown accustomed to it.
It was not long before the door was opened and a young girl aboutfifteen came in and commenced to get undressed. From time to time sheglanced at Perrine, but without saying a word. As she was in her Sundayclothes, her disrobing took longer than usual, for she had to put awayher best dress in a small box and hang her working clothes on the nailfor the next day.
A second girl came in, then a third, then a fourth. There was a babbleof tongues, all talking at the same time, each relating what hadhappened during the day. In the narrow space between the beds theypulled out and pushed back their boxes or baskets, and with each effortcame an outburst of impatience and furious upbraidings against thelandlady.
"What a hole!"
"She'll be putting another bed in here soon."
"Sure! But I won't stay!"
"Where would yer go? It ain't no better nowhere else."
The complaining, mixed with a desultory chatter, continued. At length,however, when the two who had first arrived were in bed, a little orderwas established. Soon all the beds were occupied but one.
But even then the conversation did not cease. They had discussed thedoings of the day just passed, so now they went on to the next day, tothe work at the factories, the quarrels, the doings of the heads of theconcern--M. Vulfran Paindavoine and his nephews, whom they called "thekids," and the foreman, Talouel. They spoke of this man by name onlyonce, but the names they called him bespoke better than words what theythought of him.
Perrine experienced a strange contradictory feeling which surprised her.She wanted to hear everything, for this information might be of greatimportance to her, yet on the other hand she felt embarrassed, almostashamed, to listen to such talk.
Most of the talk was rather vague to Perrine, not knowing the persons towhom it applied, but she soon gathered that "Skinny", "Judas", and"Sneak" were all one and the same man, and that man was Talouel, theforeman. The factory hands evidently considered him a bully; they allhated him, yet feared him.
"Let's go to sleep," at last said one.
"Yes, why not?"
"La Noyelle hasn't come in yet."
"I saw her outside when I came in."
"How was she?"
"Full. She couldn't stand up."
"Ugh! d'ye think she can get upstairs?"
"Not sure about that."
"Suppose we lock the door?"
"Yes, and what a row she'd make!"
"Like last Sunday; maybe worse."
They groaned. At this moment the sound of heavy shambling footsteps washeard on the stairs.
"Here she is."
The steps stopped, then there was a fall, followed by a moan.
"She's fallen down!"
"Suppose she can't get up?"
"She'd sleep as well on the stairs as here."
"And we'd sleep better."
The moaning continued, interrupted by calls for help.
"Come, Laide," called out a thick voice; "give us a hand, my child."
But Laide did not move. After a time the calls ceased.
"She's gone to sleep. That's luck."
But the drunken girl had not gone to sleep at all; on the contrary, shewas using every effort to get up the stairs again.
"Laide, come and give me a hand, child. Laide, Laide," she cried.
She evidently made no progress, for the calls still came from the bottomof the stairs, and became more and more persistent. Finally she began tocry.
"Little Laide, little Laide, come to me," she wailed. "Oh! oh! thestairs are slipping; where am I?"
A burst of laughter came from each bed.
"It's cause yer ain't come in yet, Laide; that's why yer don't come.I'll go and find yer."
"Now she's gone and we'll have some peace," said one.
"No, she'll go to look for Laide and won't find her, and it'll allbegin over again. Well never get to sleep."
"Go and give her a hand, Laide," advised one.
"Go yerself," retorted Laide.
"But she wants you."
Laide decided to go, and slipping on her skirt, she went down thestairs.
"Oh, my child, my child," cried La Noyelle, brokenly, when she caughtsight of her.
The joy of seeing Laide drove all thoughts of getting upstairs safelyaway.
"Come with me, little one, and I'll treat you to a glass; come on,"urged the drunken creature.
But Laide would not be te
mpted.
"No, come on to bed," she said.
The woman continued to insist.
They argued for a long time, La Noyelle repeating the words, "a littleglass."
"I want to go to sleep," said one of the girls in bed. "How long is thisgoing to keep up? And we got to be up early tomorrow."
"Oh, Lord! and it's like this every Sunday," sighed another.
And little Perrine had thought that if she only had a roof over her headshe would be able to sleep in peace! The open fields, with their darkshadows and the chances of bad weather, was far better than this crowdedroom, reeking with odors that were almost suffocating her. She wonderedif she would be able to pass the night in this dreadful room.
The argument was still going on at the foot of the stairs. La Noyelle'svoice could be heard repeating "a little glass."
"I'm goin' to help Laide," said one, "or this'll last till tomorrow."The woman got up and went down the narrow stairs. Then came the sound ofangry voices, heavy footsteps and blows. The people on the ground floorcame out to see what was the matter, and finally everyone in the housewas awake.
At last La Noyelle was dragged into the room, crying out in despair.
"What have I done to you that you should be so unkind to me?"
Ignoring her complaints, they undressed her and put her into bed, buteven then she did not sleep, but continued to moan and cry.
"What have I done to you girls that you should treat me so badly. I'mvery unhappy, and I'm thirsty."
She continued to complain until everyone was so exasperated that theyone and all shouted out in anger.
However, she went on all the same. She carried on a conversation with animaginary person till the occupants of the room were driven to distraction.Now and again her voice dropped as though she were going off to sleep, thensuddenly she cried out in a shriller voice, and those who had dropped offinto a slumber awoke with a start and frightened her badly, but despitetheir anger she would not stop.
Perrine wondered if it really was to be like that every Sunday. Howcould they put up with her? Was there no place in Maraucourt where onecould sleep peacefully?
It was not alone the noise that disturbed her, but the air was now sostifling that she could scarcely breathe.
At last La Noyelle was quiet, or rather it was only a prolonged snorethat came from her lips.
But although all was silent Perrine could not sleep. She was oppressed.It seemed as though a hammer was beating on her forehead, and she wasperspiring from head to foot.
It was not to be wondered at. She was suffocating for want of air; andif the other girls in the room were not stifled like her, it was becausethey were accustomed to this atmosphere, which to one who was in thehabit of sleeping in the open air was unbearable.
But she thought that if they could endure it she should. Butunfortunately one does not breathe as one wishes, nor when one wishes.If she closed her mouth she could not get enough air into her lungs.
What was going to happen to her? She struggled up in bed, tearing at thepaper which replaced the window pane against which her bed was placed. Shetore away the paper, doing so as quietly as possible so as not to wake thegirls beside her. Then putting her mouth to the opening she leaned hertired little head on the window sill. Finally in sheer weariness she fellasleep.