CHAPTER V
"To virtue wake the pulses of the heart, And bid the tear of emulation start."
ROGERS.
Victoire, who gave constant exercise to the benevolent feelings of theamiable nun, became every day more dear to her. Far from having theselfishness of a favourite, Victoire loved to bring into public noticethe good actions of her companions. "Stoop down your ear to me, SisterFrances," said she, "and I will tell you a secret--I will tell you why myfriend Annette is growing so thin--I found it out this morning--she doesnot eat above half her soup every day. Look, there's her porringercovered up in the corner--she carries it home to her mother, who is sick,and who has not bread to eat."
Madame de Fleury came in whilst Sister Frances was yet bending down tohear this secret; it was repeated to her, and she immediately orderedthat a certain allowance of bread should be given to Annette every day tocarry to her mother during her illness.
"I give it in charge to you, Victoire, to remember this, and I am sure itwill never be forgotten. Here is an order for you upon my baker: run andshow it to Annette. This is a pleasure you deserve; I am glad that youhave chosen for your friend a girl who is so good a daughter. Gooddaughters make good friends."
By similar instances of goodness Victoire obtained the love andconfidence of her companions, notwithstanding her manifest superiority.In their turn, they were eager to proclaim her merits; and, as SisterFrances and Madame de Fleury administered justice with invariableimpartiality, the hateful passions of envy and jealousy were neverexcited in this little society. No servile sycophant, no maliciousdetractor, could rob or defraud their little virtues of their due reward.
"Whom shall I trust to take this to Madame de Fleury?" said SisterFrances, carrying into the garden where the children were playing a potof fine jonquils, which she had brought from her convent.--"These are thefirst jonquils I have seen this year, and finer I never beheld! Whomshall I trust to take them to Madame de Fleury this evening?--It must besome one who will not stop to stare about on the way, but who will bevery, very careful--some one in whom I can place perfect dependence."
"It must be Victoire, then," cried every voice.
"Yes, she deserves it to-day particularly," said Annette eagerly;"because she was not angry with Babet when she did what was enough to putanybody in a passion. Sister Frances, you know this cherry-tree whichyou grafted for Victoire last year, and that was yesterday so full ofblossoms--now you see, there is not a blossom left!--Babet plucked themall this morning to make a nosegay."
"But she did not know," said Victoire, "that pulling off the blossomswould prevent my having any cherries."
"Oh, I am very sorry I was so foolish," said Babet; "Victoire did noteven say a cross word to me."
"Though she was excessively anxious about the cherries," pursued Annette,"because she intended to have given the first she had to Madame deFleury."
"Victoire, take the jonquils--it is but just," said Sister Frances. "HowI do love to hear them all praise her!--I knew what she would be from thefirst."
With a joyful heart Victoire took the jonquils, promised to carry themwith the utmost care, and not to stop to stare on the way. She set outto Madame de Fleury's hotel, which was in _La Place de Louis Quinze_. Itwas late in the evening, the lamps were lighting, and as Victoire crossedthe Pont de Louis Seize, she stopped to look at the reflection of thelamps in the water, which appeared in succession, as they were lighted,spreading as if by magic along the river. While Victoire leaned over thebattlements of the bridge, watching the rising of these stars of fire, asudden push from the elbow of some rude passenger precipitated her pot ofjonquils into the Seine. The sound it made in the water was thunder tothe ear of Victoire; she stood for an instant vainly hoping it would riseagain, but the waters had closed over it for ever.
"Dans cet etat affreux, que faire? . . . Mon devoir."
Victoire courageously proceeded to Madame de Fleury's, and desired to seeher.
"D'abord c'est impossible--madame is dressing to go to a concert," saidFrancois. "Cannot you leave your message?"
"Oh no," said Victoire; "it is of great consequence--I must see hermyself; and she is so good, and you too, Monsieur Francois, that I amsure you will not refuse."
"Well, I remember one day you found the seal of my watch, which I droppedat your schoolroom door--one good turn deserves another. If it ispossible it shall be done--I will inquire of madame's woman."--"Follow meupstairs," said he, returning in a few minutes; "madame will see you."
She followed him up the large staircase, and through a suite ofapartments sufficiently grand to intimidate her young imagination.
"Madame est dans son cabinet. Entrez--mais entrez donc, entreztoujours."
Madame de Fleury was more richly dressed than usual; and her image wasreflected in the large looking-glass, so that at the first momentVictoire thought she saw many fine ladies, but not one of them the ladyshe wanted.
"Well, Victoire, my child, what is the matter?"
"Oh, it is her voice!--I know you now, madame, and I am not afraid--notafraid even to tell you how foolish I have been. Sister Frances trustedme to carry for you, madame, a beautiful pot of jonquils, and she desiredme not to stop on the way to stare; but I did stop to look at the lampson the bridge, and I forgot the jonquils, and somebody brushed by me andthrew them into the river--and I am very sorry I was so foolish."
"And I am very glad that you are so wise as to tell the truth, withoutattempting to make any paltry excuses. Go home to Sister Frances, andassure her that I am more obliged to her for making you such an honestgirl than I could be for a whole bed of jonquils."
Victoire's heart was so full that she could not speak--she kissed Madamede Fleury's hand in silence, and then seemed to be lost in contemplationof her bracelet.
"Are you thinking, Victoire, that you should be much happier if you hadsuch bracelets as these? Believe me, you are mistaken if you think so;many people are unhappy who wear fine bracelets; so, my child, contentyourself."
"Myself! Oh, madame, I was not thinking of myself--I was not wishing forbracelets; I was only thinking that--"
"That what?"
"That it is a pity you are so very rich; you have everything in thisworld that you want, and I can never be of the least use to _you_--all mylife I shall never be able to do _you_ any good--and what," saidVictoire, turning away to hide her tears, "what signifies the gratitudeof such a poor little creature as I am?"
"Did you never hear the fable of the lion and the mouse, Victoire?"
"No, madame--never!"
"Then I will tell it to you."
Victoire looked up with eyes of eager expectation--Francois opened thedoor to announce that the Marquis de M--- and the Comte de S--- were inthe saloon; but Madame de Fleury stayed to tell Victoire her fable--shewould not lose the opportunity of making an impression upon this child'sheart.
It is whilst the mind is warm that the deepest impressions can be made.Seizing the happy moment sometimes decides the character and the fate ofa child. In this respect, what advantages have the rich and great ineducating the children of the poor! they have the power which their rankand all its decorations obtain over the imagination. Their smiles arefavours; their words are listened to as oracular; they are looked up toas beings of a superior order. Their powers of working good are almostas great, though not quite so wonderful, as those formerly attributed tobeneficent, fairies.
Murad the Unlucky, and Other Tales Page 11
