Nobody's Boy. Hector Malot

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      "Well, what about your lawsuit?" asked Mother Barberin.

      "Lost it. The judge said that I was to blame for being under the scaffold." Thereupon he banged his fist on the table and began to swear, without saying anything that meant anything.

      "Case lost," he went on after a moment; "money lost, all gone, poverty staring us in the face. And as though that isn't enough, when I get back here, I find a child. Why didn't you do what I told you to do?"

      "Because I couldn't."

      "You could not take him to a Foundlings' Home?"

      "A woman can't give up a little mite like that if she's fed it with her own milk and grown to love it."

      "It's not your child."

      "Well, I wanted to do what you told me, but just at that very moment he fell ill."

      "Ill?"

      "Yes. Then I couldn't take him to that place. He might have died."

      "But when he got better?"

      "Well, he didn't get better all at once. After that sickness another came. He coughed so it would have made your heart bleed to hear him, poor little mite. Our little Nicolas died like that. It seemed to me that if I sent him to the Foundlings' Home he'd died also."

      "But after? … after?"

      "Well, time went on and I thought that as I'd put off going I'd put it off a bit longer."

      "How old is he now?"

      "Eight."

      "Well then, he'll go now to the place where he should have gone sooner, and he won't like it so well now."

      "Oh, Jerome, you can't … you won't do that!"

      "Won't I? and who's going to stop me? Do you think we can keep him always?"

      There was a moment's silence. I was hardly able to breathe. The lump in my throat nearly choked me. After a time Mother Barberin went on:

      "How Paris has changed you! You wouldn't have spoken like that to me before you went away."

      "Perhaps not. But if Paris has changed me, it's also pretty near killed me. I can't work now. We've got no money. The cow's sold. When we haven't enough to feed ourselves, have we got to feed a child that don't belong to us?"

      "He's mine."

      "He's no more yours than mine. Besides, he ain't a country boy. He's no poor man's child. He's a delicate morsel, no arms, no legs."

      "He's the prettiest boy in the village!"

      "I don't say he ain't pretty. But sturdy, no! Do you think you can make a working man out of a chit with shoulders like his? He's a city child and there's no place for city children here."

      "I tell you he's a fine boy and as intelligent and cute as a little cat, and he's got a good heart, and he'll work for us. … "

      "In the meantime we've got to work for him, and I'm no good for much now."

      "If his parents claim him, what will you say?"

      "His parents! Has he got any parents? They would have found him by now if he had. It was a crazy thing for me to think that his parents would come and claim him some day and pay us for his keep. I was a fool. 'Cause he was wrapped up in fine clothes trimmed with lace, that wasn't to say that his parents were going to hunt for him. Besides, they're dead."

      "Perhaps they're not. And one day they may come. … "

      "If you women ain't obstinate!"

      "But if they do come?"

      "Well, we've sent him to the Home. But we've said enough. I'll take him to-morrow. I'm going 'round to see François now. I'll be back in an hour."

      The door was opened and closed again. He had gone. Then I quickly sat up in bed and began to call to Mother Barberin.

      "Say! Mamma!"

      She ran over to my bed.

      "Are you going to let me go to the Foundlings' Home?"

      "No, my little Remi, no."

      She kissed me and held me tight in her arms. I felt better after that and my tears dried on my cheeks.

      "You didn't go to sleep, then?" she asked softly.

      "It wasn't my fault."

      "I'm not scolding you. You heard what he said, then?"

      "Yes, you're not my mamma, but … he isn't my father."

      The last words I had said in a different tone because, although I was unhappy at learning that she was not my mother, I was glad, I was almost proud, to know that he was not my father. This contradiction of my feelings betrayed itself in my voice. Mother Barberin did not appear to notice.

      "Perhaps I ought to have told you the truth, but you seemed so much my own boy that I couldn't tell you I was not your real mother. You heard what Jerome said, my boy. He found you one day in a street in Paris, the Avenue de Breuteuil. It was in February, early in the morning, he was going to work when he heard a baby cry, and he found you on a step. He looked about to call some one, and as he did so a man came out from behind a tree and ran away. You cried so loud that Jerome didn't like to put you back on the step again. While he was wondering what to do, some more men came along, and they all decided that they'd take you to the police station. You wouldn't stop crying. Poor mite, you must have been cold. But then, when they got you warm at the station house, you still cried, so they thought you were hungry, and they got you some milk. My! you were hungry! When you'd had enough they undressed you and held you before the fire. You were a beautiful pink boy, and all dressed in lovely clothes. The lieutenant wrote down a description of the clothes and where you were found, and said that he should have to send you to the Home unless one of the men liked to take charge of you. Such a beautiful, fine child it wouldn't be difficult to bring up, he said, and the parents would surely make a search for it and pay any one well for looking after it, so Jerome said he'd take it. Just at that time I had a baby the same age. So I was well able to feed both you two mites. There, dearie, that was how I came to be your mother."

      "Oh, Mamma, Mamma!"

      "Yes, dearie, there! and at the end of three months I lost my own little baby and then I got even more fond of you. It was such a pity Jerome couldn't forget, and seeing at the end of three years that your parents hadn't come after you, he tried to make me send you to the Home. You heard why I didn't do as he told me?"

      "Oh, don't send me to the Home," I cried, clinging to her, "Mother Barberin, please, please, don't send me to the Home."

      "No, dearie, no, you shan't go. I'll settle it. Jerome is not really unkind, you'll see. He's had a lot of trouble and he is kind of worried about the future. We'll all work, you shall work, too."

      "Yes, yes, I'll do anything you want me to do, but don't send me to the СКАЧАТЬ