<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></SPAN>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<h3>THE MATERNAL HOUSE</h3>
<p>"Well," asked Mother Barberin, when we entered, "what did the mayor
say?"</p>
<p>"We didn't see him."</p>
<p>"How! You didn't see him?"</p>
<p>"No, I met some friends at the Notre-Dame café and when we came out it
was too late. So we'll go back to-morrow."</p>
<p>So Barberin had given up the idea of driving a bargain with the man with
the dogs.</p>
<p>On the way home I wondered if this was not some trick of his, returning
to the house, but his last words drove all my doubts away. As we had to
go back to the village the next day to see the mayor, it was certain
that Barberin had not accepted Vitalis' terms.</p>
<p>But in spite of his threats I would have spoken of my fears to Mother
Barberin if I could have found myself alone for one moment with her, but
all the evening Barberin did not leave the house, and I went to bed
without getting the opportunity. I went to sleep thinking that I would
tell her the next day. But the next day when I got up, I did not see
her. As I was running all round the house looking for her, Barberin saw
me and asked me what I wanted.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Mamma."</p>
<p>"She has gone to the village and won't be back till this afternoon."</p>
<p>She had not told me the night before that she was going to the village,
and without knowing why, I began to feel anxious. Why didn't she wait
for us, if we were going in the afternoon? Would she be back before we
started? Without knowing quite why, I began to feel very frightened, and
Barberin looked at me in a way that did not tend to reassure me. To
escape from his look I ran into the garden.</p>
<p>Our garden meant a great deal to us. In it we grew almost all that we
ate—potatoes, cabbages, carrots, turnips. There was no ground wasted,
yet Mother Barberin had given me a little patch all to myself, in which
I had planted ferns and herbs that I had pulled up in the lanes while I
was minding the cow. I had planted everything pell mell, one beside the
other, in my bit of garden: it was not beautiful, but I loved it. It was
mine. I arranged it as I wished, just as I felt at the time, and when I
spoke of it, which happened twenty times a day, it was "My garden."</p>
<p>Already the jonquils were in bud and the lilac was beginning to shoot,
and the wall flowers would soon be out. How would they bloom? I
wondered, and that was why I came to see them every day. But there was
another part of my garden that I studied with great anxiety. I had
planted a vegetable that some one had given to me and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</SPAN></span> which was almost
unknown in our village; it was Jerusalem artichokes. I was told they
would be delicious, better than potatoes, for they had the taste of
French artichokes, potatoes, and turnips combined. Having been told
this, I intended them to be a surprise for Mother Barberin. I had not
breathed a word about this present I had for her. I planted them in my
own bit of garden. When they began to shoot I would let her think that
they were flowers, then one fine day when they were ripe, while she was
out, I would pull them up and cook them myself. How? I was not quite
sure, but I did not worry over such a small detail; then when she
returned to supper I would serve her a dish of Jerusalem artichokes! It
would be something fresh to replace those everlasting potatoes, and
Mother Barberin would not suffer too much from the sale of poor
Rousette. And the inventor of this new dish of vegetables was I, Remi, I
was the one! So I was of some use in the house.</p>
<p>With such a plan in my head I had to bestow careful attention on my
Jerusalem artichokes. Every day I looked at the spot where I had planted
them, it seemed to me that they would never grow. I was kneeling on both
knees on the ground, supported on my hands, with my nose almost touching
the earth where the artichokes were sown, when I heard Barberin calling
me impatiently. I hurried back to the house. Imagine my surprise when I
saw, standing before the fireplace, Vitalis and his dogs.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>I knew at once what Barberin wanted of me. Vitalis had come to fetch me
and it was so that Mother Barberin should not stop me from going that
Barberin had sent her to the village. Knowing full well that I could
expect nothing from Barberin, I ran up to Vitalis.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't take me away. Please, sir, don't take me away." I began to
sob.</p>
<p>"Now, little chap," he said, kindly enough, "you won't be unhappy with
me. I don't whip children, and you'll have the dogs for company. Why
should you be sorry to go with me?"</p>
<p>"Mother Barberin!..."</p>
<p>"Anyhow, you're not going to stay here," said Barberin roughly, taking
me by the ear. "Go with this gentleman or go to the workhouse. Choose!"</p>
<p>"No, no. Mamma! Mamma!"</p>
<p>"So, you're going to make me mad, eh!" cried Barberin. "I'll beat you
good and hard and chase you out of the house."</p>
<p>"The child is sorry to leave his mamma, don't beat him for that. He's
got feelings, that's a good sign."</p>
<p>"If you pity him he'll cry all the more."</p>
<p>"Well, now to business."</p>
<p>Saying that, Vitalis laid eight five franc pieces on the table, which
Barberin with a sweep of his hand cleared up and thrust into his pocket.</p>
<p>"Where's his bundle?" asked Vitalis.</p>
<p>"Here it is," said Barberin, handing him a blue<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</SPAN></span> cotton handkerchief
tied up at the four corners. "There are two shirts and a pair of cotton
pants."</p>
<p>"That was not what was agreed; you said you'd give some clothes. These
are only rags."</p>
<p>"He ain't got no more."</p>
<p>"If I ask the boy I know he'll say that's not true. But I haven't the
time to argue the matter. We must be off. Come on, my little fellow.
What's your name?"</p>
<p>"Remi."</p>
<p>"Well, then, Remi, take your bundle and walk along beside Capi."</p>
<p>I held out both my hands to him, then to Barberin. But both men turned
away their heads. Then Vitalis took me by the wrist. I had to go.</p>
<p>Ah, our poor little house! It seemed to me when I passed over the
threshold that I left a bit of my body there. With my eyes full of tears
I looked around, but there was no one near to help me. No one on the
road, and no one in the field close by. I began to call:</p>
<p>"Mamma ... Mother Barberin!"</p>
<p>But no one replied to my call, and my voice trailed off into a sob. I
had to follow Vitalis, who had not let go of my wrist.</p>
<p>"Good-by and good luck," cried Barberin. Then he entered the house. It
was over.</p>
<p>"Come, Remi, hurry along, my child," said Vitalis. He took hold of my
arm and I walked side by side with him. Fortunately he did not walk
fast. I think he suited his step to mine.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>We were walking up hill. As I turned I could still see Mother
Barberin's house, but it was getting smaller and smaller. Many a time I
had walked this road and I knew that for a little while longer I should
still see the house, then when we turned the bend, I should see it no
more. Before me the unknown, behind me was the house, where until that
day I had lived such a happy life. Perhaps I should never see it again!
Fortunately the hill was long, but at last we reached the top. Vitalis
had not let go his hold.</p>
<p>"Will you let me rest a bit?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Surely, my boy," he replied.</p>
<p>He let go of me, but I saw him make a sign to Capi and the dog
understood. He came close to me. I knew that Capi would grab me by the
leg if I attempted to escape. I went up a high grassy mound and sat
down, the dog beside me. With tear-dimmed eyes I looked about for Mother
Barberin's cottage. Below was the valley and the wood, and away in the
distance stood the little house I had left. Little puffs of yellow smoke
were coming out of the chimney, going straight up in the sky, and then
on towards us. In spite of the distance and the height, I could see
everything very clearly. On the rubbish heap I could see our big fat hen
running about, but she did not look as big as usual; if I had not known
that it was our hen, I should have taken her for a little pigeon. At the
side of the house I could see the twisted pear tree that I used to ride
as a horse. In the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</SPAN></span> stream I could just make out the drain that I had
had so much trouble in digging, so that it would work a mill made by my
own hands; the wheel, alas! had never turned, despite all the hours I
had spent upon it. I could see my garden. Oh, my dear garden!...</p>
<p>Who would see my flowers bloom? and my Jerusalem artichokes, who would
tend them? Barberin, perhaps, that wicked Barberin! With the next step
my garden would be hidden from me. Suddenly on the road which led to our
house from the village, I saw a white sunbonnet. Then it disappeared
behind some trees, then it came in view again. The distance was so great
that I could only see a white top, like a spring butterfly. It was going
in and out amongst the trees. But there is a time when the heart sees
better and farther than the sharpest eyes. I knew it was Mother
Barberin. It was she. I was sure of it.</p>
<p>"Well," asked Vitalis, "shall we go on now?"</p>
<p>"Oh, sir, no, please no."</p>
<p>"Then it is true what they say, you haven't any legs, tired out already.
That doesn't promise very good days for us."</p>
<p>I did not reply, I was looking....</p>
<p>It <i>was</i> Mother Barberin. It was her bonnet. It was her blue skirt. She
was walking quickly as though she was in a hurry to get home. When she
got to our gate she pushed it open and went quickly up the garden path.
I jumped up at once and stood up on the bank, without giving a thought<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</SPAN></span>
to Capi, who sprang towards me. Mother Barberin did not stay long in the
house. She came out and began running to and fro, in the yard, with her
arms stretched out.</p>
<p>She was looking for me. I leaned forwards and, at the top of my voice, I
cried:</p>
<p>"Mamma! Mamma!" But my cry could not reach her, it was lost in the air.</p>
<p>"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy?" asked Vitalis.</p>
<p>I did not reply; my eyes were still fixed on Mother Barberin. But she
did not look up, for she did not know that I was there above her. She
went round the garden, then out into the road, looking up and down. I
cried louder, but like my first call it was useless. Then Vitalis
understood, and he also came up on the bank. It did not take him long to
see the figure with the white sunbonnet.</p>
<p>"Poor little chap," he said softly to himself.</p>
<p>"Oh," I sobbed, encouraged by his words of pity, "do let me go back."
But he took me by the wrist and drew me down and onto the road.</p>
<p>"As you are now rested," he said, "we'll move on."</p>
<p>I tried to free myself, but he held me firmly.</p>
<p>"Capi! Zerbino," he said, looking at the dogs. The two dogs came close
to me; Capi behind, Zerbino in front. After taking a few steps I turned
round. We had passed the bend of the hill and I could no longer see the
valley nor our house.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</SPAN></span></p>
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