Nobody's Boy Part 30

CHAPTER XVIII

NEW FRIENDS

When I awoke I was in a bed, and the flames from a big fire lit up the room in which I was lying. I had never seen this room before, nor the people who stood near the bed. There was a man in a gray smock and clogs, and three or four children. One, which I noticed particularly, was a little girl about six years old, with great big eyes that were so expressive they seemed as though they could speak.

I raised myself on my elbow. They all came closer.

"Vitalis?" I asked.

"He is asking for his father," said a girl, who seemed to be the eldest of the children.

"He is not my father; he is my master," I said; "where is he? where's Capi?"

If Vitalis had been my father they perhaps would have broken the news to me gently, but as he was only my master, they thought that they could tell me the truth at once.

They told me that my poor master was dead. The gardener, who lived on the grounds outside of which we had fallen exhausted, had found us early the next morning, when he and his son were starting off with their vegetables and flowers to the markets. They found us lying, huddled together in the snow, with a little covering of their straw over us.

Vitalis was already dead, and I should have died but Capi had crept up to my chest and kept my heart warm. They had carried us into the house and I had been placed in one of the children's warm beds.

"And Capi?" I asked, when the gardener stopped talking.

"Capi?"

"Yes, the dog."

"I don't know, he's disappeared."

"He followed the body," said one of the children. "Didn't you see him, Benjamin?"

"Should say I did," answered another boy; "he walked behind the men who carried the stretcher. He kept his head down, and now and again he jumped up on the body, and when they made him get down he moaned and howled something terrible."

Poor Capi! how many times, as an actor, had he not followed Zerbino's funeral. Even the most serious children had been obliged to laugh at his display of grief. The more he moaned, the more they had laughed.

The gardener and his children left me alone. Not knowing quite what to do or what I was going to do, I got up and dressed. My harp had been placed at the foot of the bed upon which I was lying. I pa.s.sed the strap over my shoulder and went into the room where the family were. I should have to go, but where? While in bed I had not felt very weak, but now I could scarcely stand; I was obliged to hold on to a chair to keep from falling. The odor of the soup was too much for me. I was reminded brutally that I had eaten nothing the night before. I felt faint, and staggering, I dropped into a chair by the fire.

"Don't you feel well, my boy?" asked the gardener.

I told him that I did not feel very well, and I asked him to let me sit by the fire for a little while.

But it was not the heat that I wanted; it was food. I felt weaker as I watched the family take their soup. If I had dared, I would have asked for a bowl, but Vitalis had taught me not to beg. I could not tell them I was hungry. Why? I don't know, quite, unless it was that I could not ask for anything that I was unable to return.

The little girl with the strange look in her eyes, and whose name was Lise, sat opposite to me. Suddenly, she got up from the table and, taking her bowl which was full of soup, she brought it over to me and placed it on my knees. Weakly, for I could no longer speak, I nodded my head to thank her. The father did not give me time to speak even if I had been able.

"Take it, my boy," he said. "What Lise gives is given with a kind heart.

There is more if you want more."

If I want more! The bowl of soup was swallowed in a few seconds. When I put down the soup, Lise, who had remained standing before me, heaved a little sigh of content. Then she took my bowl and held it out to her father to have it refilled, and when it was full she brought it to me with such a sweet smile, that in spite of my hunger, I sat staring at her, without thinking to take it from her. The second bowlful disappeared promptly like the first. It was no longer a smile that curved Lise's pretty lips; she burst out laughing.

"Well, my boy," said her father, "you've got an appet.i.te and no mistake."

I was much ashamed, but after a moment I thought it better to confess the truth than to be thought a glutton, so I told them that I had not had any supper the night before.

"And dinner?"

"No dinner, either."

"And your master?"

"He hadn't eaten, either."

"Then he died as much from starvation as from cold."

The hot soup had given me strength. I got up to go.

"Where are you going?" asked the father.

"I don't know."

"Got any friends or relations in Paris?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"We hadn't any home. We only got to the city yesterday."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Play my harp and get a little money."

"In Paris? You had better return to your parents in the country. Where do they live?"

"I haven't any parents. My master bought me from my foster parents. You have been good to me and I thank you with all my heart and, if you like, I'll come back here on Sunday and play my harp while you dance."

While speaking I had walked towards the door, but I had only taken a few steps when Lise, who followed me, took my hand and pointed to my harp.

"You want me to play now?" I asked, smiling at her.

She nodded and clapped her hands.

Although I had no heart to play, I played my prettiest waltz for this little girl. At first she listened with her big, beautiful eyes fixed on me, then she began to keep time with her feet, and very soon was dancing gayly round the kitchen, while her brothers and sisters watched her. Her father was delighted. When the waltz was finished the child came and made me a pretty curtsy. I would have played for her all day, but the father thought she had danced enough so, instead, I sang the Neapolitan song that Vitalis had taught me. Lise stood opposite me, moving her lips as though repeating the words. Then, suddenly, she turned round and threw herself into her father's arms, crying.

"That's enough music," said the father.

"Isn't she a silly?" said the brother named Benjamin, scoffingly; "first she dances, and then she cries!"

"She's not so silly as you!" retorted the elder sister, leaning over the little one affectionately. "She understands...."

While Lise cried on her father's knee, I again strapped my harp to my shoulder, and made for the door.