CHAPTER II
GRAIN-OF-SALT IS KIND
Many times that night Perrine, lying beside her mother, had jumped up andrun to the well for water so as to have it fresh. In spite of her desire tofetch the doctor as early as possible the next morning, she had to waituntil Grain-of-Salt had risen, for she did not know what doctor to call in.She asked him.
Certainly he knew of a good doctor! and a famous one, too! who made hisrounds in a carriage, not on foot, like doctors of no account. Dr.Cendrier, rue Rublet, near the Church; he was the man! To find the streetshe had only to follow the railway tracks as far as the station.
When he spoke of such a great doctor who made his rounds in a carriage,Perrine was afraid that she would not have enough money to pay him, andtimidly she questioned Grain-of-Salt, not daring to ask outright what shewanted to know. Finally he understood.
"What you'd have to pay?" he asked. "It's a lot, but it won't be more thanforty sous, and so as to make sure, you'll have to pay him in advance."
Following the directions that Grain-of-Salt gave her, she easily found thehouse, but the doctor had not yet risen, so she had to wait. She sat downon a bench in the street, outside a stable door, behind which a coachmanwas harnessing a horse to a carriage. She thought if she waited there shewould be sure to catch the doctor as he left the house, and if she gave himher forty sous he would consent to come. She was quite sure that he wouldnot if she had simply asked him to visit a patient who was staying in theGuillot Field.
She waited a long time; her suspense increased at the thought that hermother would be wondering what kept her away so long.
At last an old-fashioned carriage and a clumsy horse came out of thestables and stood before the doctor's house. Almost immediately thedoctor appeared, big, fat, with a grey beard.
Before he could step into his carriage Perrine was beside him. She puther question tremblingly.
"The Guillot Field?" he said. "Has there been a fight?"
"No, sir; it's my mother who is ill."
"Who is your mother?"
"We are photographers."
He put his foot on the step. She offered him her forty sous quickly.
"We can pay you," she hastened to say.
"Then it's sixty sous," said he.
She added twenty sous more. He took the money and slipped it into hiswaistcoat pocket.
"I'll be with your mother in about fifteen minutes," he said.
She ran all the way back, happy, to take the good news.
"He'll cure you, mama; he's a real, real doctor!" she said,breathlessly.
She quickly busied herself with her mother, washing her hands and faceand arranging her hair, which was beautiful, black and silky; then shetidied up the "room," which only had the result of making it lookemptier and poorer still.
She had not long to wait. Hearing the carriage in the road, she ran outto meet the doctor. As he was walking towards the house she pointed tothe wagon.
"We live there in our wagon," she said.
He did not seem surprised; he was accustomed to the extreme poverty ofhis patients; but Perrine, who was looking at him, noticed that hefrowned when he saw the sick woman lying on the mattress in themiserable cart.
"Put out your tongue and give me your hand," he said.
Those who pay forty or a hundred francs for a visit from a doctor haveno idea of the brevity with which the poor people's cases are diagnosed.In less than a minute his examination was made.
"A case for the hospital," he said.
Simultaneously, little Perrine and her mother uttered a cry.
"Now, child, leave me alone with your mother," he said in a tone ofcommand.
For a moment Perrine hesitated, but at a sign from her mother she leftthe wagon and stood just outside.
"I am going to die," said the woman in a low voice.
"Who says that? What you need is nursing, and you can't get that here."
"Could I have my daughter at the hospital?"
"She can see you Thursdays and Sundays."
"What will become of her without me," murmured the mother, "alone inParis? If I have to die I want to go holding her hand in mine."
"Well, anyway, you can't be left in this cart. The cold nights would befatal for you. You must take a room. Can you?"
"If it is not for long, perhaps."
"Grain-of-Salt can rent you one, and won't charge much; but the room isnot all. You must have medicine and good food and care, all of which youwould get at the hospital."
"Doctor, that is impossible," said the sick woman. "I cannot leave mylittle girl. What would become of her?"
"Well, it's as you like; it's your own affair. I have told you what Ithink."
"You can come in, little girl, now," he called out. Then taking a leaffrom his note pad, he wrote out a prescription.
"Take that to the druggist, near the Church," he said, handing it toPerrine. "No other, mind you. The packet marked _No. 1_ give to yourmother. Then give her the potion every hour. Give her the Quinquinawine when she eats, for she must eat anything she wants, especiallyeggs. I'll drop in again this evening."
She ran out after him.
"Is my mama very ill?" she asked.
"Well ... try and get her to go to the hospital."
"Can't you cure her?"
"I hope so, but I can't give her what she'll get at the hospital. It isfoolish for her not to go. She won't go because she has to leave you.Nothing will happen to you, for you look like a girl who can take careof yourself."
Striding on, he reached his carriage. Perrine wanted him to say more,but he jumped in quickly and was driven off. She returned to the wagon.
"Go quickly to the druggist; then get some eggs. Take all the money; Imust get well," said the mother.
"The doctor said he could cure you," said Perrine. "I'll go quickly forthe things."
But all the money she took was not enough. When the druggist had readthe prescription he looked at Perrine.
"Have you the money to pay for this?" he asked.
She opened her hand.
"This will come to seven francs, fifty," said the man who had alreadymade his calculation.
She counted what she had in her hand and found that she had six francseighty-five centimes, in counting the Austrian florin as two francs. Sheneeded thirteen sous more.
"I have only six francs eighty-five centimes. Would you take thisflorin? I have counted that," she said.
"Oh, no; I should say not!" replied the man.
What was to be done? She stood in the middle of the store with her handopen. She was in despair.
"If you'll take the florin there will be only thirteen sous lacking,"she said at last, "and I'll bring them this afternoon."
But the druggist would not agree to this arrangement. He would neithergive her credit for thirteen sous nor accept the florin.
"As there is no hurry for the wine," he said, "you can come and fetch itthis afternoon. I'll prepare the other things at once and they'll onlycost you three francs fifty."
With the money that remained she bought some eggs, a little Vienna loafwhich she thought might tempt her mother's appetite, and then shereturned to the Field, running as fast as she could all the way.
"The eggs are fresh," she said. "I held them up to the light. And lookat the bread! Isn't it a beautiful loaf, mama? You'll eat it, won'tyou?"
"Yes, darling."
Both were full of hope. Perrine had absolute faith in the doctor, andwas certain that he would perform the miracle. Why should he deceivethem? When one asks the doctor to tell the truth, doesn't he do so?
Hope had given the sick woman an appetite. She had eaten nothing fortwo days; now she ate a half of the roll.
"You see," said Perrine, gleefully.
"Everything will be all right soon," answered her mother with a smile.
Perrine went to the house to inquire of Grain-of-Salt what steps sheshould take to sell the wagon and dear Palikare.
As for the wagon, no
thing was easier. Grain-of-Salt would buy ithimself; he bought everything, furniture, clothes, tools, musicalinstruments ... but a donkey! That was another thing. He did not buyanimals, except pups, and his advice was that they should wait for a dayand sell it at the Horse Market. That would be on Wednesday.
Wednesday seemed a long way off, for in her excitement, and filled withhope, Perrine had thought that by Wednesday her mother would be strongenough to start for Maraucourt. But to have to wait like this! There wasone thing, though: With what she got for the wagon she could buy the twodresses and the railway tickets, and if Grain-of-Salt paid them enough,then they need not sell Palikare. He could stay at the Guillot Field andshe could send for him after they arrived at Maraucourt. Dear Palikare!How contented he would be to have a beautiful stable to live in and goout every day in the green fields.
But alas! Grain-of-Salt would not give one sou over fifteen francs forthe wagon.
"Only fifteen francs!" she murmured.
"Yes, and I am only doing that to oblige you. What do you think I can dowith it?" he said. He struck the wheels and the shafts with an iron bar;then shrugged his shoulders in disgust.
After a great deal of bargaining all she could get was two francs fiftyon the price he had offered, and the promise that he would not take ituntil after they had gone, so that they could stay in it all day, whichshe thought would be much better for her mother than closed up in thehouse.
After she had looked at the room that Grain-of-Salt was willing to rent,she realized how much the wagon meant to them, for in spite of the pridein which he spoke of his "Apartments," and the contempt in which hespoke of the wagon, Perrine was heartbroken at the thought that she mustbring her dear mother to this dirty smelling house.
As she hesitated, wondering if her mother would not be poisoned from theodor which came from the heaps of things outside, Grain-of-Salt saidimpatiently:
"Hurry up! The rag pickers will be here in a moment and I'll have to getbusy."
"Does the doctor know what these rooms are like?" she asked.
"Sure! He came to this one lots of times to see the Baroness."
That decided her. If the doctor had seen the rooms he knew what he wasdoing in advising them to take one, and then if a Baroness lived in one,her mother could very well live in the other.
"You'll have to pay one week in advance," said the landlord, "and threesous for the donkey and six for the wagon."
"But you've bought the wagon," she said in surprise.
"Yes, but as you're using it, it's only fair that you should pay."
She had no reply to make to this. It was not the first time that she hadbeen cheated. It had happened so often on their long journey.
"Very well," said the poor little girl.
She employed the greater part of the day in cleaning their room, washingthe floor, wiping down the walls, the ceiling, the windows. Such ascrubbing had never been seen in that house since the place had beenbuilt!
During the numerous trips that she made from the house to the pump shesaw that not only did grass and thistles grow in the Field, but therewere flowers. Evidently some neighbors had thrown some plants over thefence and the seeds had sprung up here and there. Scattered about shesaw a few roots of wall-flowers, pinks and even some violets!
What a lovely idea! She would pick some and put them in their room. Theywould drive away the bad odor, and at the same time make the place lookgay.
It seemed that the flowers belonged to no one, for Palikare was allowedto eat them if he wished, yet she was afraid to pick the tiniest onewithout first asking Grain-of-Salt.
"Do you want to sell them?" he asked.
"No, just to put a few in our room," she replied.
"Oh, if that's it you may take as many as you like, but if you are goingto sell them, I might do that myself. As it's for your room, helpyourself, little one. You like the smell of flowers. I like the smell ofwine. That's the only thing I can smell."
She picked the flowers, and searching amongst the heap of broken glassshe found an old vase and some tumblers.
The miserable room was soon filled with the sweet perfume ofwall-flowers, pinks and violets, which kept out the bad odors of therest of the house, and at the same time the fresh, bright colors lent abeauty to the dark walls.
While working, she had made the acquaintance of her neighbors. On oneside of their room lived an old woman whose gray head was adorned with abonnet decorated with the tri-color ribbon of the French flag. On theother side lived a big man, almost bent double. He wore a leather apron,so long and so large that it seemed to be his only garment. The womanwith the tri-color ribbons was a street singer, so the big man told her,and no less a person than the Baroness of whom Grain-of-Salt had spoken.Every day she left the Guillot Field with a great red umbrella and a bigstick which she stuck in the ground at the crossroads or at the end of abridge. She would shelter herself from the sun or the rain under her redumbrella and sing, and then sell to the passersby copies of the songsshe sang.
As to the big man with the apron, he was a cobbler, so she learned fromthe Baroness, and he worked from morning to night. He was always silent,like a fish, and for this reason everybody called him Father Carp. Butalthough he did little talking he made enough noise with his hammer.
At sunset Perrine's room was ready. Her mother, as she was helped in,looked at the flowers with surprise and pleasure.
"How good you are to your mama, darling," she murmured as she clung toPerrine's arm.
"How good I am to myself," Perrine cried gayly, "because if I doanything that pleases you, I am so happy."
At night they had to put the flowers outside. Then the odors of the oldhouse rose up terribly strong, but the sick woman did not dare complain.What would be the use, for she could not leave the Guillot Field to goelsewhere?
Her sleep was restless, and when the doctor came the next morning hefound her worse, which made him change the treatment, and Perrine wasobliged to go again to the druggist. This time he asked five francs tofill out the prescription. She did not flinch, but paid bravely,although she could scarcely breathe when she got outside the store. Ifthe expenses continued to increase at this rate poor Palikare would haveto be sold on Wednesday. He would have to go now anyway. And if thedoctor prescribed something else the next day, costing five francs ormore, where would she find the money?
When, with her mother and father, she had tramped over the mountains,they had often been hungry, and more than once since they had leftGreece on their way to France they had been without food. But hunger inthe mountains and in the country was another thing--there was always thechance that they would find some wild fruit or vegetables. But in Paristhere was no hope for those who had no money in their pockets.
What would become of them? And the terrible thing was that she must takethe responsibility. Her mother was too ill now to think or plan, andPerrine, although only a child, realized that she must now be themother.
On Tuesday morning her fears were realized. After a brief examination,the doctor took from his pocket that terrible notebook that Perrinedreaded to see and began to write. She had the courage to stop him.
"Doctor, if the medicines which you are ordering are not all of the sameimportance," she said, "will you please write out those which are neededthe most?"
"What do you mean?" he asked angrily.
She trembled but continued bravely:
"I mean that we have not much money today, and we shall not get anyperhaps until tomorrow ... so...."
He looked at her, then glanced round the room, as though for the firsttime remarking their poverty; then he put his notebook back in hispocket.
"We won't change the treatment until tomorrow, then," he said. "There isno hurry for this. Continue the same today."
"No hurry!" Perrine repeated the words to herself. There was no hurrythen ... her mother was not so ill as she had feared; they had just towait and hope....
Wednesday was the day for which she was waiting, yet at the same ti
mehow she dreaded it. Dear, dear Palikare.... Whenever her mother did notneed her she would run out into the field and kiss his nose and talk tohim, and as he had no work to do, and all the thistles to eat that hewanted and his little mistress' love, he was the happiest donkey in theworld.
"Ah, if you only knew," murmured Perrine, as she caressed him.
But he did not know. All he knew was that she loved him and that thethistles were good. So, as she kissed and kissed, he brayed incontentment and shook his long ears as he looked at her from the cornerof his eyes.
Besides, he had made friends with Grain-of-Salt and had received a proofof his friendship in a way that flattered his greed. On Monday, havingbroken loose, he had trotted up to Grain-of-Salt, who was occupied insorting out the rags and bones that had just arrived, and he stoodbeside him. The man was about to pour out a drink from the bottle thatwas always beside him when he saw Palikare, his eyes fixed on him, hisneck stretched out.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. As the words were not said inanger, the donkey knew, and he did not move.
"Want a drink ... a glass of wine?" he asked mockingly. The glass thathe was about to put to his lips he offered in a joke to the donkey.Palikare, taking the offer seriously, came a step nearer and pushing outhis lips to make them as thin and as long as possible, drank a good halfof the glass which had been filled to the brim.
"_Oh la la! la la!_" cried Grain-of-Salt, bursting with laughter."Baroness! Carp! Come here!"
At his calls, the Baroness and Carp, also a rag picker who came into thefield at that moment and a man with a push-cart who sold red and yellowand blue sugar sticks, ran up.
"What's the matter?" demanded the Baroness.
He filled the glass again and held it out to the donkey, who, as before,absorbed half of the contents amidst the laughter and shouts of thosewho looked on.
"I heard that donkeys liked wine, but I never believed it," said thecandy man.
"You ought to buy him; he'd be a good companion for you," said theBaroness.
"A fine pair," said another.
But Grain-of-Salt did not buy him, although he took a great liking tohim, and told Perrine that he would go with her on Wednesday to theHorse Market. This was a great relief for Perrine, for she had wonderedhow she would ever be able to find the place; neither did she know howto discuss prices, and she was very much afraid that she would berobbed. She had heard so many stories about Paris thieves, and whatcould she have done to protect herself?...
Wednesday morning came. At an early hour she busied herself withbrushing Palikare and making his beautiful coat shine so that he wouldlook his best. How she kissed him! How she stroked him while her tearsfell!
When Palikare saw that instead of being hitched to the wagon, a rope wasput round his neck, his surprise was great; and still more surprised washe when Grain-of-Salt, who did not want to walk all the way fromCharonne to the Horse Market, climbed up on a chair and from the chaironto his back. But as Perrine held him and spoke to him, he offered noresistance. Besides, was not Grain-of-Salt his friend?
They started thus. Palikare, still surprised, walked gravely along, ledby Perrine. On through the streets they went. At first they met but fewvehicles, and soon they arrived at a bridge which jutted into a largegarden.
"That's the Zoo," said Grain-of-Salt, "and I'm sure that they haven'tgot a donkey there like yours."
"Then perhaps we can sell him to the Zoo," exclaimed Perrine, thinkingthat in a zoological garden all the animals have to do is to walk aboutand be looked at. That would be very nice for dear Palikare!
"An affair with the Government," said Grain-of-Salt; "better not, 'causethe Government...."
From his expression it was evident that Grain-of-Salt had no faith inthe Government.
From now on the traffic was intense. Perrine needed all her wits andeyes about her. After what seemed a long time they arrived at the Marketand Grain-of-Salt jumped off the donkey. But while he was getting downPalikare had time to gaze about him, and when Perrine tried to make himgo through the iron gate at the entrance he refused to budge.
He seemed to know by instinct that this was a market where horses anddonkeys were sold. He was afraid. Perrine coaxed him, commanded him,begged him, but he still refused to move. Grain-of-Salt thought that ifhe pushed him from behind he would go forward, but Palikare, who wouldnot permit such familiarity, backed and reared, dragging Perrine withhim.
There was already a small circle of onlookers around them. In the firstrow, as usual, there were messenger boys and errand boys, each givinghis word of advice as to what means to use to force the donkey throughthe gate.
"That there donkey is going to give some trouble to the fool who buyshim," cried one.
These were dangerous words that might affect the sale, so Grain-of-Saltthought he ought to say something.
"He's the cleverest donkey that ever was!" he cried. "He knows he'sgoing to be sold, and he's doin' this 'cause he loves us and don't wantter leave us!"
"Are you so sure of that, Grain-of-Salt?" called out a voice in thecrowd.
"Zooks! who knows my name here?" cried the one addressed.
"Don't you recognize La Rouquerie?"
"My faith, that's so," he cried, as the speaker came forward. They shookhands.
"That donkey yours?"
"No; it belongs to this little gal."
"Do you know anything about it?"
"We've had more than one glass together, and if you want a good donkeyI'll speak for him."
"I need one and yet I don't need one," said La Rouquerie.
"Well, come and take a drink. 'Tain't worthwhile to pay for a place inthe Market...."
"Especially if he won't budge!"
"I told you he was a smart one; he's that intelligent."
"If I buy him it's not for his tricks nor 'cause he can take a drinkwith one, but he must work."
"He can work, sure! He's come all the way from Greece without stopping."
"From Greece!"
Grain-of-Salt made a sign to Perrine to follow him, and Palikare, nowthat he knew that he was not going into the market, trotted beside herdocilely. She did not even have to pull his rope.
Who was this prospective buyer? A man? A woman? From the generalappearance and the hairless face it might be a woman of about fifty, butfrom the clothes, which consisted of a workingman's blouse and trousersand a tall leather hat like a coachman wears, and from the short, blackpipe which the individual was smoking, it surely was a man. But whateverit was, Perrine decided that the person looked kind. The expression wasnot hard or wicked.
Grain-of-Salt and the stranger turned down a narrow street and stoppedat a wine shop. They sat down at one of the tables outside on thepavement and ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses. Perrine remainedby the curb, still holding her donkey.
"You'll see if he isn't cunning," said Grain-of-Salt, holding out hisfull glass.
Palikare stretched out his neck, thinned his lips and quickly drank thehalf glass of wine.
But this feat did not give La Rouquerie any particular satisfaction.
"I don't want him to drink my wine, but to drag my cart with the rabbitskins," she said.
"Didn't I just tell you that he came from Greece, draggin' a wagon thewhole way?"
"Ah, that's another thing!"
The strange looking woman carefully examined the animal; then she gavethe greatest attention to every detail; then asked Perrine how much shewanted for him. The price which Perrine had arranged with her landlordbeforehand was one hundred francs. This was the sum that she asked.
La Rouquerie gave a cry of amazement. One hundred francs! Sell a donkeywithout any guarantee for that sum! Were they crazy? Then she began tofind all kind of faults with the unfortunate Palikare.
"Oh, very well," said Grain-of-Salt, after a lengthy discussion; "we'lltake him to the Market."
Perrine breathed. The thought of only getting twenty francs had stunnedher. In their terrible distress what would twenty
francs be? A hundredfrancs even was not sufficient for their pressing needs.
"Let's see if he'll go in any more now than he did then," cried LaRouquerie.
Palikare followed Perrine up to the Market gates obediently, but oncethere he stopped short. She insisted, and talked, and pulled at therope, but it was no use. Finally he sat down in the middle of thestreet.
"Palikare, do come! Do come, dear Palikare," Perrine said, imploringly.
But he sat there as though he did not understand a word of what she wassaying. A crowd gathered round and began to jeer.
"Set fire to his tail," cried one.
Grain-of-Salt was furious, Perrine in despair.
"You see he won't go in," cried La Rouquerie. "I'll give thirty francs,that's ten more'n I said, 'cause his cunning shows that this donkey is agood boy, but hurry up and take the money or I'll buy another."
Grain-of-Salt consulted Perrine with a glance; he made her a sign thatshe ought to accept the offer. But she seemed stunned at such a fraud.She was standing there undecided when a policeman told her roughly thatshe was blocking up the street and that she must move on.
"Go forward, or go back, but don't stand there," he ordered.
She could not go forward, for Palikare had no intention of doing so. Assoon as he understood that she had given up all hope of getting him intothe Market, he got up and followed her docilely, agitating his long earswith satisfaction.
"Now," said La Rouquerie, after she had put thirty francs into poorPerrine's hand, "you must take him to my place, for I'm beginning toknow him and he's quite capable of refusing to come with me. I don'tlive far from here."
But Grain-of-Salt would not consent to do this; he declared that thedistance was too far for him.
"You go with the lady alone," he said to Perrine, "and don't be too cutup about your donkey. He'll be all right with her. She's a good woman."
"But how shall I find my way back to Charonne?" asked Perrine,bewildered. She dreaded to be lost in the great city.
"You follow the fortifications ... nothing easier."
As it happened, the street where La Rouquerie lived was not far from theHorse Market, and it did not take them long to get there. There wereheaps of garbage before her place, just like in Guillot Field.
The moment of parting had come. As she tied Palikare up in a littlestable, her tears fell on his head.
"Don't take on so," said the woman; "I'll take care of him, I promiseyou."
"We loved him so much," said little Perrine. Then she went on her way.