: Popular Tales by Guizot Madame Elisabeth Charlotte Pauline Burke L Mrs Translator - Conduct of life Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Children Conduct of life Juvenile fiction

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her side of the road, for she was afraid of every one, but the old woman rose and went to her. Nanette would have run away, but the woman took her by the hand, spoke gently to her, and told her not to be frightened, for she would do her no harm. Nanette looked at her, felt reassured by her kind expression of countenance, and told her that she had run away from the town because they wanted to beat her.

"It is your mother who wanted to beat you," said Dame Lapie; "well never mind, we will settle that; come, we will go and ask her to forgive you, and then she will not beat you;" saying this, she made a movement as if wishing to lead her back to the town. Nanette, terrified, began to scream and struggle, saying that it was not her mother, and that she would not return to the town. "Well, then, we will not go, you shall come with us," but Nanette still struggled to withdraw her hand; Dame Lapie let it go, and as Nanette went on, contented herself with following and talking to her. "Who will give you anything to eat to-day?" she demanded. Nanette, crying, replied, "I don't know." "Where will you sleep to-night?" asked Dame Lapie. "I don't know," said Nanette, still crying. "Come with me," continued Dame Lapie, "I promise you we will not return to the town." "Come with us," said the little boy, who had also followed her, and Nanette at last suffered herself to be persuaded. Dame Lapie led her back to the foot of the tree, gave her a piece of black bread and an apple, and while eating it, for she was beginning to feel hungry, she recovered her calmness a little.

Dame Lapie was an old woman to whom the people of the village intrusted their children, whilst they went to work in the fields. She had always five or six, whom she went for in the morning, and took home again at night. The little boy who had spoken to Nanette, and whose name was Jeannot, was one of those she had taken care of in this way. His parents dying whilst he was very young, Dame Lapie would not abandon him, but not being able to support him herself, she sent him to beg. She herself also went, and sat by the road-side, with the little children around her, and asked alms of the passers by; and the parents of the children were either ignorant of this, or did not trouble themselves about it, especially as Dame Lapie always shared with the little ones whatever she obtained.

Jeannot seeing Dame Lapie receiving children every day, imagined that all who had no homes ought to go to her; and therefore he had sought to lead Nanette to her; and the dame, meeting with a little girl neatly clad, wandering about alone, without knowing where she went, was persuaded, notwithstanding Nanette's assertions that she had run away from her mother, to whom she should be rendering a service by restoring her. She intended, therefore, as soon as she had learned from Nanette who were her parents, to go and see them, promising to restore their daughter, on condition that they would not beat her, for Dame Lapie could not bear the idea of having children ill treated, or even annoyed. Meanwhile, when she returned at night to the village, she made Nanette accompany her, and gave her two of the children to lead; this amused Nanette, but she was not quite so much diverted, when at night the dame had nothing to give her for supper but the same kind of black bread which she had had for dinner, and this too without the apple. Neither did she feel much inclined to sleep with Dame Lapie, whose bed was very disagreeable; still it was necessary, and she slept very soundly after all. Jeannot, as usual, slept upon some straw in a corner of the hut.

During the night, Dame Lapie was seized with so violent an attack of rheumatism that she could not move a limb; and, as she was unable to go to the town, she told Nanette that she must return home to her mother. Nanette again began to cry, saying that her mother did not live in the town, that her good friend was dead, and that there remained no one but of her good friend's sister, and she wanted to beat her; she did not allude to the Ch?teau, for she was still more afraid of Dubois than of the shopkeeper. Dame Lapie asked where her mother was, but Nanette scarcely remembered the name of her native village; everything she said on the subject was so confused, and she cried so much, that the old woman could make nothing out, and resolved to let the matter rest for the present. On several occasions, during the following days, she renewed her questions, but always with the same result; and, too ill to insist much on the matter, she determined, as soon as she was better, to go to the town and make inquiries herself.

Nanette, meanwhile, rendered her a thousand little services; she was gentle and attentive, and delighted in giving pleasure. The constant attention required by Mademoiselle Gerard had rendered her alive to the wants of sick people. She also took care of the little children, who were always brought to Dame Lapie's, and, accompanied by Jeannot, went out with them upon the road. Jeannot did all he could to cheer her; but she was sad. She remembered the good dinners she had with Mademoiselle Gerard, and the black bread became distasteful to her; nevertheless, there was nothing else for her, and not always enough even of that. On one occasion, she was obliged to go to bed supperless, and passed a part of the night in crying; but so as not to be heard by Dame Lapie, because, whenever the dame saw her crying from hunger, she scolded her, and asked her why she did not go and beg like Jeannot.

The winter had passed; the spring was very wet; and when it rained, the water penetrated into Dame Lapie's hut, which was somewhat below the level of the street. This rendered it very unhealthy. It was also unhealthy for Nanette to sleep with this old woman, who was an invalid. Nanette was naturally of a delicate constitution, and the misery in which her infancy had been passed left her in a state of but very moderate health at the time she was taken by Madame de Vesac. Under the care of Mademoiselle Gerard, she recovered her strength, but not sufficiently to enable her to bear the present relapse into misery. If Jeannot was able to endure the same inconveniences, it was because he was of a strong, lively, and active temperament, which prevented him from yielding to depression; whereas Nanette, mild, quiet, and even a little inclined to indolence, gave way to discouragement and sadness--a thing which always increases our troubles. Jeannot besides was a favourite with the neighbours; every one caressed him, and gave him something; but they had been greatly displeased by the arrival of Nanette, and thought it very wrong of Dame Lapie to take charge of a child of whom she knew nothing, and who, they said, was only an additional beggar in the village; so that not unfrequently, when Nanette went into the streets, she heard the women and children crying out against her. Under the combined influence of grief, unwholesome food, and want of cleanliness, Nanette soon fell ill. She was seized with a fever, and in the course of a few days became dreadfully changed. Dame Lapie, who was now able to leave her bed, and attend to the children, told her that, as she could not beg, she must at least go with Jeannot, who would beg for her; and that she would get the more when it was seen that she was so ill. Jeannot, who was much more quick and shrewd than Nanette, led her by the hand, and she suffered him to do so, for she had no longer the strength to resist anything. When they reached a spot where they could be seen by those who passed along the road, she seated herself on a stone, or at the foot of a tree, and Jeannot solicited alms for his little sister who was ill; and, indeed, she looked so ill and so unhappy, that she excited commiseration, and obtained for Jeannot additional contributions.

Meantime, Cecilia carried into execution her determination of writing to Mademoiselle Gerard; but as she, of course, addressed her letter to the Ch?teau, it was received by Dubois, who for some days had no opportunity of forwarding it to the town, and in the interval learned that Mademoiselle Gerard was dead. He was then grieved at having treated her with so much brutality the day before her departure; but as for Nanette, when told that she had run away from the shopkeeper's, and had not since been heard of, he took no further trouble in the matter, quite satisfied in his own mind that she was a thief, and that they were very fortunate to be rid of her. Of all these matters he sent an account to Madame de Vesac; but her husband having recovered and returned to active service, she had just left for Paris, and neither received this letter nor the one sent to her by Mademoiselle Gerard a few days prior to her death, and which, having passed through Paris, had been delayed a considerable time on the way. Madame de Vesac stayed only a few days at the capital, and then set out with her daughter for her country-seat, ignorant of all that had lately happened there. She had made inquiries of Cecilia respecting Mademoiselle Gerard; and Cecilia being unable to give her any information, was obliged to confess her negligence. Her mother severely reprimanded her, though little imagining the misfortunes this negligence had produced.

They were four days on their journey, and while changing horses at the last post but one, Cecilia descended from the carriage, and leaving the yard of the inn, went to breathe the fresh air on the high road. Immediately a little boy came towards her, asking charity for his little sister who was ill, at the same time pointing her out to Cecilia, who, in fact, beheld a little girl seated on the ground, with a dying look, and her head leaning against a stone; at that moment she was sleeping; her clothes were in rags, and so dirty, that their colour could scarcely be distinguished. Cecilia, while looking at her, was seized with pity, and struck by her resemblance to Nanette; but it never occurred to her that it could be Nanette. Just then she was called, and giving the little boy a penny, telling him it was for his sister, she returned to the carriage, her mind filled with the thought of the poor little girl she had just seen; yet she did not dare to speak of her to her mother, fearing that by recalling the memory of Nanette she might revive those reproaches which her conscience told her she deserved. What, then, was her consternation, when, on arriving at the Ch?teau, she was informed of the death of Mademoiselle Gerard, and the disappearance of Nanette. While Dubois was relating these particulars, Madame de Vesac fixed her eyes upon her daughter, who at one moment looked at her with an expression of great anxiety, and at the next cast down her eyes ashamed. As soon as Dubois had left the room, Cecilia, pale and trembling, with clasped hands, and a look of despair, said to her mother, "Oh! mamma, if it was that little girl I saw close to the post-house, who looked as if she were dying." Her mother asked her what grounds she had for such an idea. Cecilia informed her, and, while doing so, wept bitterly; for the more she thought of the subject, the less doubt did she entertain of its being poor little Nanette. "I am sure I recognised her," she continued; "and now I remember that she wore the blue dress I gave her. It was all torn, and I could scarcely tell the colour; but it was the same, I am sure. Poor little Nanette!" And with this, she redoubled her tears. She entreated that some one might be sent immediately to the inn, to make inquiries; but it was then too late in the day, and she dreaded lest the delay of a few hours should render Nanette so much worse as to be past recovery. Her agitation increased every moment. Madame de Vesac gave orders that the following morning, as soon as it was light, some one should go to the post-house, to ascertain if the people knew anything of the little girl who was begging at the door on the previous day. Cecilia passed a sleepless night, and rose the next morning before daybreak; and she was awaiting the return of the messenger even before he had started. He did return at last, but without any information. Nanette had never before been at the inn, and the people had not noticed her, and were at a loss to understand the object of all these inquiries. Cecilia was in hopes she would return there during the day, and a messenger was again sent to inquire; but Nanette did not make her appearance, for the post-house was situated at a considerable distance from the village in which Dame Lapie lived; and, in her feeble and suffering condition, the walk had so much exhausted her that she found it impossible to return. "Oh, mamma," exclaimed Cecilia, "perhaps she is dead." At that moment she felt all the anguish of the most dreadful remorse; her agitation almost threw her into a fever. Inquiries were made in the town; and the shopkeeper's wife stated that Nanette had run away, and no one knew what had become of her. The neighbours were also applied to; and they, disliking the sister-in-law of Mademoiselle Gerard, and having heard of the will, said, that to avoid paying the six hundred francs to Nanette, she was quite capable of forcing her, by her ill treatment, to run away, and that perhaps even she had turned her out of doors. To this were added conjectures and rumours, some declaring that a little girl had been met one night in the fields, almost perished with cold; others saying that one had been found on the high road, nearly starved to death; but when questioned further on the point, no one could tell who had seen this little girl, nor what had become of her; for these were only false reports, such as are always circulated in cases of disaster. Cecilia, however, believed them, and they threw her into despair. At this time, Mademoiselle Gerard's letter reached them; it contained a complete justification of Nanette, whom Dubois persisted in regarding as a thief; it also proved that, if Cecilia had written immediately on the receipt of her first letter, Nanette would not have been lost. This redoubled Cecilia's distress. To complete it, there arrived another letter, bearing the post-mark of the village in which Nanette's mother lived. It was written by the clergyman, at the poor woman's request. In this letter, she said that they had several times heard--but not until it was too late,--that Madame de Vesac had passed by. This had very much grieved her, as she would have been glad to have seen her daughter for a moment; but she was told that Nanette was not with them, and feeling extremely uneasy, she entreated Mademoiselle Cecilia--to whom the letter was addressed--to send her some intelligence of her child. The clergyman concluded by saying: "God will bless you, my dear young lady, because you do not abandon the poor." This letter pierced Cecilia to the heart. She grew thin with grief and anxiety; every time the door opened, she fancied there was some news of Nanette. Her eyes were constantly directed towards the avenue, as if she expected to see her coming; and at night she woke up with a start at the slightest noise, as if it announced her return. At last her mother resolved that they would themselves make inquiries in all the neighbouring villages, and speak to all the clergymen, although still fearing that they were too late. They therefore set out one afternoon, and as they approached a village, but a short distance from the town, Cecilia, who was anxiously looking in every direction, uttered a cry, exclaiming, "Mamma, mamma, that's her! there she is! I see her! I see the same little boy!" and she caught hold of the coachman's coat, to make him stop the quicker, and darting out of the carriage, rushed towards Nanette, who was lying on the ground, with her head leaning against a tree, seeming scarcely able to breathe. Cecilia threw herself on the ground by her side, spoke to her, raised her up, and kissed her. Nanette recognised her, and began to weep; Cecilia wept also, and taking her upon her knees, she caressed her, called her her dear Nanette, her poor little Nanette. The child looked at her with astonishment, while a faint flush animated her cheeks. Madame de Vesac soon reached the spot. Cecilia wanted to have Nanette put instantly into the carriage, and taken home; but Madame de Vesac questioned Jeannot, who stood staring in the utmost astonishment, utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw. While Cecilia was arranging Nanette in the carriage, Madame de Vesac, conducted by Jeannot, went to Dame Lapie's cottage. The old woman was sitting at her door, still unable to walk, and related all she knew about the child. Madame de Vesac gave her some money, and returned to Cecilia, who was dying with impatience to see Nanette home, and in a comfortable bed. She got there at last. Cecilia nursed her with the greatest care, and for a whole week never left her bedside, frequently rising in the night to ascertain how she was. At last the surgeon pronounced her out of danger; but it was long before she was restored to health, and still longer before she recovered from the sort of stupidity into which she had been thrown by such a series of misfortunes and suffering. When quite well, Cecilia was desirous of resuming her education with more regularity than formerly; but this education had now become still more difficult than at first, and Cecilia could no longer assume her former authority; for, whenever she was going to scold Nanette, she remembered how much she had suffered through her negligence, and dared not say a word. She felt that to have the right of doing to others all the good we wish, and of ordering what may be useful to them, we must never have done them any injury. She therefore sent Nanette to school, and economized her allowance, in order to be able afterwards to apprentice her to a business. The brother of Mademoiselle Gerard was made to refund the six hundred francs; but Cecilia desired that the sum might be kept for a marriage portion for Nanette, when she was grown up. Madame de Vesac gave Jeannot a suit of clothes; and Dame Lapie had permission to send every week to the ch?teau for vegetables. Madame de Vesac spent not only this summer, but the winter also, and the following summer, in the country; so that Nanette had time to learn to read, and make some progress in writing. This was a source of great joy to Cecilia, who, for some time, feared that her mind was totally stupified. In conversing on the subject with her mother, after she had been relieved of all anxiety in regard to it, Madame de Vesac said to her: "We never know what injury we may do when we confer favours heedlessly and solely for our own pleasure, and without being willing to give ourselves any trouble. This is not the way to do good. Those whom you neglect, after having led them to expect assistance, find, when you have abandoned them, that they had calculated upon you, and are now without resource; so that you have done them more harm than if you had never aided them."

THREE CHAPTERS IN THE LIFE OF NADIR.

THE ROSE.

In the month of Flowers, in Farsistan, the Land of Roses, three youths inhaled the perfumed air of the morning, as they sported in the flower-covered fields, and amid the leaves, sparkling with dew. Pleasure directed their steps towards the depths of a dark grove, into which the heat of the first beams of day had not yet penetrated. A celestial fragrance mingled with the first exhalations of the verdure. One single sunbeam had pierced the thick foliage, as if to point out, with its golden finger, a Rose, the loveliest of roses. The dew-drops bathed it as they passed, or crept, for its refreshment, into its bosom, coloured with transparent tints of light and shade; and the zephyr of the grove seemed to have no other care than to balance it on its delicate stem. Proudly, but timidly, did it raise its head, expanding like the countenance of a young girl, whose lips scarce dare to smile, while already happiness is beaming in her eyes.

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