JULIA;
OR THE STORY OF MADAME CROQUE-MITAINE.
Two years had elapsed since Madame de Vallonay had placed herdaughter at school, in order to go and nurse her husband, who wasill at a fortified town, in which he commanded, and which was atany moment liable to attack. Circumstances having changed, M. andMadame de Vallonay returned to Paris, and brought their daughterhome again. Julia was thirteen, she was sufficiently intelligent andsufficiently advanced for her age; but a child of thirteen, howeveradvanced, cannot possibly understand all that is said by personsolder than herself. She had, however, acquired a habit of regardingeverything that she did not understand as ridiculous. Accustomedto the chit-chat of school-girls, who among themselves discussed,criticised, and decided upon everything, she fancied she understooda thing when once it had formed the subject of conversation atschool. Thus, if any circumstance was spoken of, Julia maintainedthat the fact had happened differently; she was quite sure of it, forMademoiselle Josephine had heard so in the holidays. If told thatsuch or such a style of dress was in bad taste, "Oh, but it must befashionable, nevertheless, for three of our young ladies have adoptedit for ball dresses this winter." It was the same on more seriousmatters: whatever one of the elder girls related, from having heardher parents mention it, whether about peace or war, or the theatre,to which she had never been, it became a general opinion, to whichneither Julia nor her companions ever thought there could be anythingto oppose.
Thus, there never was a visit paid to her parents, that Julia did notexclaim, the moment the persons were gone, "Oh! mamma, what an absurdthing Monsieur or Madame So-and-so said!" Her mother permitted herto express her opinion in this manner when she was alone with her,in order to have an opportunity of proving to her, either that shedid not understand what had been said, or that she did not understandwhat she wanted to say herself; but when there was company, shecarefully watched, that her daughter did not give way to anyrudeness, such as whispering, while laughing or looking at some one,making signs to a person at the other end of the room, or seeming tobe unable to restrain her laughter.
Julia, who stood in awe of her mother, usually behaved pretty wellin company. One day, however, when two or three of her schoolfellowshad come to dine at Madame de Vallonay's, the Cur? of the Vallonayestate, being in Paris on business, dined there also. He was a veryworthy and sensible man, who said many excellent things, though ina rather more tedious manner than other people, while he introducedinto his conversation old proverbs, very useful to remember, butwhich appeared to Julia excessively ridiculous, because she wasunaccustomed to this style of speaking. Moreover, she had neverbefore seen the Cur?, and it was her habit always to discoversomething extraordinary in persons whom she saw for the first time.Her companions were as foolish as herself. Before dinner they amusedthemselves by mimicking the gestures of the Cur?, whom they sawfrom an adjoining apartment, walking up and down the drawing-roomwith M. de Vallonay; this had put them into such a mocking humour,that during the whole of dinner, there was a constant succession ofwhisperings and laughings, for which they sought a thousand frivolouspretexts. Sometimes it was the dog who scratched himself in a drollmanner, or who, in putting his paw upon Julia's knee to beg forsomething to eat, pulled her napkin, or else Emily had drunk out ofher glass, or had taken her fork or her bread. Madame de Vallonay,though excessively annoyed, was nevertheless fearful of allowing herdispleasure to be visible, lest the Cur? should suspect its cause,but in the evening, when the company had departed, she scolded herdaughter very seriously, and made her feel the rudeness, and evenabsurdity, of such conduct, and assured her that if such a thingoccurred again, she would not allow her to associate with companions,who encouraged her in such disagreeable habits. Finally, as she wasanxious to accustom her to reflect upon the motives of her actions,she asked her what there was so very remarkable in the conversationof the Cur? de Vallonay.
"Oh! mamma, he said everything so oddly."
"As, for example:"--
"Well, mamma, he took the trouble of telling me that more flies wereto be caught with a spoonful of honey than with a barrel of vinegar."
"And, it appears to me, Julia, that this maxim was never betterapplied; and it would have been a fortunate thing had it recalledto your mind at that moment, that love is gained by doing what ispleasing to others, not by mockery and disagreeable behaviour."
"And then he recited to papa, who apparently knew it very wellbeforehand, that verse of La Fontaine--
"Plus fait douceur que violence." Gentleness does more than violence.
"Which means...?" asked Madame de Vallonay.
"Which means ... which means...." And Julia, probably rather annoyedby the conversation, was entirely taken up with pulling with all herstrength the string of her bag, which had become entangled with thekey of her work-box.
"Which means," continued Madame de Vallonay, "that you would do muchbetter, were you gently to untie the knot in that string, insteadof tightening it as you are doing, by pulling it in this irritablemanner. I see, Julia, that you will often require to be reminded ofthe Cur?'s proverbs."
"But, nevertheless, mamma, they are things which everybody knows, andit was that which wearied me, and made me laugh with those girls."
"Which everybody knows? which you, Julia, know, do you not?"
"I assure you I do, mamma."
"You, who might learn something from every one! You, who might findsomething instructive in the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine, ifindeed, you were capable of understanding it!"
"The story of Madame Croque-Mitaine!" exclaimed Julia, very muchpiqued: "that story for babies, which my cousin brought the other dayfor my little sister?"
"Exactly so, the one he made for her, when I showed him that badengraving which I had given her, and which represented MadameCroque-Mitaine, with her bag and stick, threatening all the littlechildren that she will take them away, if they are not good."
"What, mamma! and you really believe that I should learn somethingfrom that story?"
"No, because I am not sure that you have penetration enough tounderstand its utility. Come, let us see, here is the paper, readit..., come, read on."
"Oh! mamma."
"Oh! my child, you will have the kindness to read it aloud to me; ifmy dignity is not hurt by hearing it, surely yours need not be so byreading it."
Julia, half-laughing, half-pouting, took the manuscript, and readaloud the following story:
MADAME CROQUE-MITAINE:A TALE.
"Come away! come away, Paul," said little Louisa to her youngestbrother, "we have more time than we want; the shop where they sellflowers and toys is at the end of the next street; mamma is dressing,and before she has finished we shall be back again, you with yourwhip, and I with my nosegay, and we will bring back one for mammatoo, which will please her."
Taking Paul by the hand, she walked off with him as fast as theirlittle legs could carry them. Louisa was nine years old, and Paulonly seven, and they were two of the prettiest children imaginable.Louisa was dressed in a frock of snow-white cambric, and arose-coloured sash encircled her little waist. As she walked along,she admired her red shoes, while her fair hair fell in ringlets overher shoulders. Paul's hair was neither less fair nor less beautiful;he wore a nankeen dress, quite new, an embroidered waistcoat, and anopen worked shirt; but all these were nothing in comparison with thepleasure which awaited them. Their mother had promised to take themto the fair of Saint Cloud, and they were to set out in an hour. Inthe country, where, up to the present time, they had resided, theyhad been permitted to run about in the park, and sometimes even intothe village; since they had come to Paris, however, they had beenforbidden ever to venture beyond the carriage-gate, but the habit ofattending to these injunctions was not yet confirmed, and besides,Louisa wanted to have a bouquet to take with her to Saint Cloud, andPaul wanted a whip, that he might whip his papa's horses, for he hadpromised to take him by his side in front of the cal?che, and theyhastened to buy these things unknown to their mother
, with the moneythat she had just given them for their week's allowance.
All the passers-by stopped to look at them: "What pretty children!"they said, "how can they be allowed to go in the streets alone attheir age?" And Louisa pulled Paul by the hand, in order to walkfaster, so as not to hear them. A cabriolet which was coming veryquickly behind them, made them redouble their haste. "Let us runfast," said Louisa, "here comes a cabriolet," but the cabriolet alsoran, and Louisa, in her fright, turned to the right instead of to theleft, and passed the flower-shop without perceiving it. The cabrioletstill followed them, every instant drawing nearer; the noise of thewheels so bewildered Louisa, that thinking it was upon her heels, sherushed into another street. The vehicle took the same direction, andin turning round, the horse trotting in the middle of the gutter,sent up such a shower of mud and water, that our two terrifiedchildren were completely covered by it.
Paul instantly burst into tears: "My embroidered waistcoat isspoiled," he exclaimed.
"Be quiet," said Louisa, "we shall be observed," and she cast ananxious and melancholy look, sometimes around her, and sometimes onher cambric dress, which was even more splashed than Paul's waistcoat.
"Shall we soon reach the toy-shop?" asked Paul, still crying, thoughin a lower tone.
"We have only to go back," said Louisa, "for I think we have come toofar; if we take the same way back, we shall soon be there," and shepulled Paul still more forcibly, while she kept close up to the wall,in the hope of not being seen; nevertheless, she did not know how shecould venture to enter the toy-shop, or return home to her mother,with her dress in this condition.
All the streets seemed alike, and a child knows only the one inwhich it lives. Louisa did not return through the same streets bywhich the cabriolet had followed her. The farther she went, the moreuneasy did she become, at not reaching the shop, and she draggedPaul's arm, who, not being able to walk so fast, said to her, "Don'tgo so fast, you hurt me." They went down a little street, whichsomewhat resembled one in the neighbourhood of their own housethrough which Louisa had sometimes passed, but at the end of it theyfound no passage, and instead of their road, they beheld ... MadameCroque-Mitaine, rummaging with her crook in a heap of rags.
You know Madame Croque-Mitaine. You have seen her humped back, herred eyes, her pointed nose, her dark and wrinkled face, her dirty andwithered hands, her petticoat of all colours, her sabots, her bag,and that long stick with which she turns up and examines every heapof rubbish she meets with.
At the noise made by the two children in running, she raised herhead, looked at them, and guessed, without much difficulty, fromtheir frightened looks, and by the tears which still flowed downPaul's cheeks, and the sobs which swelled the bosom of Louisa, thatthey ought not to be where they were.
"What are you doing here?" she asked of them.
Louisa, without replying, leaned against the railing, holding Paulstill more firmly.
"Have you a tongue?" continued Madame Croque-Mitaine. "You have atall events very good legs to run with," and she took Louisa by thehand, saying, "Hold up your head, my little one, what has happened toyou?"
Louisa was so unaccustomed to speak to persons whom she did notknow; the stories which her nurse had been foolish enough to repeatto her about old women who take away little children; the wrinkles,the ill-tempered look, the costume, and the first words addressedto her by Madame Croque-Mitaine, had so much terrified her, thatnotwithstanding the softened tone in which she now spoke to her,Louisa did not dare either to raise her eyes, or to reply.
"Well," said the old woman, "I see that I shall not get a word fromthem, nevertheless, I will not leave the poor children here. Willyou," she said, addressing Paul, "will you tell me where you comefrom, and where you are going to? Are you also dumb like your sister?"
"We are going to the toy-shop," said Paul.
"And we have lost our way," rejoined Louisa, who began to feel alittle less afraid of Madame Croque-Mitaine.
"Your mamma, surely, did not allow you to go out?" continued the oldwoman.
Louisa cast down her eyes.
"Well! well! you must first come to my house, in order that I may getrid of some of this mud for you; you are almost as dirty as I am."
"No! no!" exclaimed Louisa, who began again to be frightened at therecollection of the stories of her nurse.
"What do you mean by '_No_?' Are you afraid that I shall eat you? Oh!I see they have made you afraid of Madame Croque-Mitaine; but makeyourself easy, she is not so bad as they have told you."
And, indeed, this Madame Croque-Mitaine was only what they all are;that is a poor old woman, who had no other means of gaining a living,than by picking up rags here and there, and selling them afterwardsto persons as poor as herself.
She threw her stick into her bag, took the two children by the hand,who still walked with hesitating steps, and went down one of thenarrow streets.
Every one looked with astonishment, both at the conductor, and thosewhom she conducted; their pretty dresses, all splashed as theywere, nevertheless formed a singular contrast with hers, and it wasquite evident, by their looks of shame, that they had met with someaccident, occasioned by their own fault.
"I verily believe," said a man, "that those are the two children Imet some time since, and who were walking along so gaily, holdingeach other by the hand."
"What has happened to them?" asked another.
Louisa wished, notwithstanding the fear which she had not yetentirely overcome, to hasten the steps of Madame Croque-Mitaine, inorder to escape from the looks of the curious.
"Stop! stop!" said the old woman, "do not pull me so much, I have mysack to carry, and I cannot go so fast."
At last they arrived in front of a dirty little house, intowhich they entered, through a door half-mouldered away. MadameCroque-Mitaine opened it, and made the children go in before her. Shefollowed them, put down her sack, and called her daughter, saying,"Charlotte, bring some water and a cloth here, to wash these poorlittle creatures." Charlotte came out of a corner where she wasspinning some coarse hemp; her clothes were as ragged as those of hermother, and she was only two or three years older than Louisa; butwhen the latter saw her, she felt a little more confidence. Charlottewashed Louisa, while the old woman did the same service for littlePaul. The cloth was very coarse, and the maids not very careful. Paulcried, and said they rubbed him too hard, but Louisa was too muchashamed to venture any complaint.
When this operation was over, "Now," said the old woman, "you willtell me where you live, that I may take you home."
"In the Rue d'Anjou," said Louisa, immediately.
"Ha! ha! You can speak now without waiting to be pressed; come along,then; it is not very far from here," and she set off with the twochildren, who were now quite comforted.
As she had left her sack at home, they could walk faster. When oncethey had reached the Rue d'Anjou, Louisa went direct to her own door.They found, on entering, the whole house in commotion. They had beensought for ever since they had left. All the servants had dispersedthemselves in different directions in search of them; and theirmother, in great anxiety, had also gone out to look for them. Themoment the portress saw them, she uttered a cry of joy, and ascendedwith them to the apartments. "Here they are! here they are!" shecried out from a distance, to the nurse, who was quite in despairat not having watched them more carefully; and Louisa ran and threwherself into her arms, crying with shame, fear, and pleasure. At thesame moment their mother returned, a prey to the deepest anguish.Transported with joy at finding them again, she never thought ofscolding them as they deserved. "What has happened to you? What haveyou done?" she asked, taking them upon her knees, and covering themwith tears and kisses.
"They lost their way, madame," said Madame Croque-Mitaine, forLouisa did not dare to reply. "I met them in a _cul-de-sac_, at somedistance from here: the little girl told me that she was going to buynosegays for herself and you, and a whip for her brother; but surelyit must have been without your permission."
"Good heavens, yes!" replied the mother, still trembling, "and is ityou, good woman, who have brought them back to me?"
"Yes, madame, but I first went and washed them at my house. No doubtthey must have been splashed by a coach; if you had only seen thestate they were in!" And Louisa, greatly ashamed, would have beenglad to hide her dress, which was covered with mud; while Paul, onthe contrary, showed his waistcoat to his mother, saying, "But,mamma, I shall want another waistcoat to go to Saint Cloud."
"Oh, my dears," said their mother, "no Saint Cloud for this day. Iam still trembling with the fright you have caused me. It is alreadylate, and your papa is still seeking for you. If you had not venturedout alone, and without my permission, you would neither have beensplashed nor lost, and we should now have been on our way to SaintCloud; it is right you should be punished for your fault; go then andchange your clothes."
Paul was very much disposed to cry and pout; but Louisa, feeling thejustice of her mother's words, took his hand, and left the room withhim, followed by her nurse.
Their mother remained with Madame Croque-Mitaine. "These poorchildren were very much afraid of me, madame," said the old woman."They would scarcely go with me, and I had great difficulty ininducing them to enter my hovel."
"How much I am indebted to you!" replied the mother. "Had it not beenfor you, they would not now be here, and God only knows what mighthave happened to them. Oh, how much I owe you!"
"Oh, nothing at all, madame; if my daughter had lost herself, and youhad chanced to find her, you would have done as much for her."
"Have you a daughter, my good woman?"
"Yes, one twelve years old, may it please you, madame; Charlotte isvery pretty, though I say so."
Louisa returned at this moment.
"Louisa," asked her mother, "did you see little Charlotte?"
"Oh yes, mamma, it was she who washed me."
"Well, shall we go and pay her a visit?"
"Oh yes, mamma, I should like that very much."
"Come, then, with me, my child."
Louisa followed her mother into her room, and, at her suggestion,hastily made up a packet containing two dresses, still very good;some underclothing, a cap, two handkerchiefs, and two pair ofstockings.
"Come, then, let us take these things to Charlotte," said her mother;and Louisa, greatly delighted, exclaimed, "Oh, mamma, I think theywill just fit her; she is not much bigger than I am."
"Will you conduct us to your house, my good woman," said the motherto Madame Croque-Mitaine, who was greatly rejoiced by this visit.
"Charlotte will not have gone out, will she?" demanded Louisa,blushing.
"No! certainly not," replied the old dame, "she never goes outwithout my permission;" and they quickly descended.
Their walk did not occupy much time. Louisa almost ran. As theyentered the house, Madame Croque-Mitaine made numberless apologiesfor the dirty floor, and the worn-out door. Louisa had already goneto look for Charlotte, in the corner where she was spinning. Thelittle girl was rather ashamed of coming so badly dressed into thepresence of such a grand lady.
"Come forward, miss," said her mother. "Make a courtesy; this is themamma of Mademoiselle Louisa, whom you washed a short time since. Oh,I assure you, madame, she did it very cheerfully," and Charlotte,not daring to look up at such a great lady, glanced at Louisa, andsmiled. The latter wanted immediately to dress her in her frock, toput on her white stockings, a handkerchief, and a cap, in order thatshe might have the pleasure of looking at her.
"Let her do that, herself," said her mother; "she will dress herselfwhen she likes. Tell me, my little girl, would you like to come andlive near Louisa?"
Charlotte looked at her mother, as if to ask her what she ought toreply.
"Answer, child," said the latter.
"You shall not leave your mother," continued the lady, "for I have aproposition to make to her. My doorkeeper is going away, and I havenot yet engaged another in her place. Would you like to take thelodge, my good woman? We do not keep late hours at my house, and youwill not have much trouble."
Madame Croque-Mitaine was overjoyed at this offer; it was a good andsecure situation, and she accepted it with the most lively gratitude.It was agreed that she should enter upon her duties on the followingday, and Louisa returned home with her mother. Her father, who hadjust come in, scolded her a little for what she had done, a fault ofwhich she had not at first felt the full extent; and Louisa, whileacknowledging her fault, said, nevertheless, that her nurse ought notto have told her bad stories about Madame Croque-Mitaine, and thatshe was much better pleased at having had an opportunity of doing aservice to Charlotte than if she had gone to St. Cloud.
* * * * *
"Well, my child," said Madame de Vallonay to Julia, when she hadfinished reading, "what useful reflections do you deduce from thestory of Madame Croque-Mitaine?" Julia smiled, but said nothing, asif she imagined that her mother was laughing at her. But Madame deVallonay having pressed for an answer, she said, with a contemptuousexpression, "Indeed, mamma, if you made me read it, in order to teachme not to be afraid of old women, who go about picking up rags in thestreets, I think I knew that much before."
"And do you see nothing else in it?"
"What! mamma, that we ought not to be disobedient? this is a thingone scarcely needs to learn at my age."
"I am very glad," said Madame de Vallonay, smiling, with a slighttinge of sarcasm, "that this lesson has become quite useless to you.But cannot you see any others?"
"What others can there be?"
"As for that, my child, I will not point them out to you. You mightthen find that I was only repeating what all the world knows. Lookfor them yourself."
With these words, Madame de Vallonay went to her husband's study, asshe wished to speak with him, and left Julia with her work, her booksof history, and her sonata to practise. When she returned, it was teno'clock, and as she opened the door, Julia screamed and started fromher chair greatly frightened.
"What is the matter, my dear?" said her mother.
"Oh! nothing, mamma, I was only frightened."
"Frightened at what?"
"Because you startled me."
"What childish nonsense! Come, it is late, you must go to bed."
"Are you coming, mamma?"
"No, I have a letter to write."
"Well, mamma, I will wait until you have finished it."
"No, I wish you to go to bed."
"But, mamma, if you will let me, as I pass by, I will carry your deskand lamp into your bedroom, you will be able to write there morecomfortably."
"No, my dear, I shall write much more comfortably here. Cannot you goto bed without me?"
Julia did not move. She looked at the wax taper, which her mothertold her to take, with an expression of dismay, and without lightingit, and seemed from time to time, to listen anxiously in thedirection of the door. Her mother could not conceive what was thematter with her.
"Indeed, my dear," she said, smiling, "I think you must be afraid ofmeeting Madame Croque-Mitaine by the way."
Julia smiled too, though with some embarrassment, and confessed thatshe had been reading in a book which lay upon the table, a story ofrobbers and assassins, which terrified her so much that she had notcourage to go alone to her room, which was separated from the boudoirby the drawing-room and her mother's bedroom.
"We had agreed, Julia, that you should not read anything without mypermission. I think it would not have been quite so useless if MadameCroque-Mitaine had taught you not to disobey."
"Mamma, I did not think I was doing much harm, because it was a bookfor young people, and you had already allowed me to read some of thetales."
"You should have waited until I had given you permission to readthe whole, and the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine ought to havetaught you, that children should not undertake to interpret thewishes of their parents, as they can seldom understand the reasonson which they are founded. Louisa and
Paul, like you, thought theywere doing no great harm, and like you, too, they fell into thevery inconvenience from which it was intended to preserve them. Go,my child, go to bed, and if your fear prevents you from sleeping,you can reflect on the moral contained in the story of MadameCroque-Mitaine."
Julia saw she had no alternative; she lighted the taper as slowly asshe could, and as she went out, left the door of the boudoir open;but her mother called her back to shut it. Then, seeing herselfalone, she began to walk so fast that the taper went out at the doorof her room. She was obliged to retrace her steps. When she reachedher room a second time, her heart beat violently; she started atevery creaking of the floor, nor could she go to sleep, until hermother came. These absurd fears tormented her for two or three days,though she did not dare to speak of them, for fear of being againreminded of Madame Croque-Mitaine; but she had not yet escaped fromher.
One of Julia's companions had been presented with two little whitemice, the prettiest little things imaginable. They were inclosed in alarge glass-case, through which they could be seen; a kind of littlewheel had been suspended from the lid, which they turned round withtheir paws, like squirrels, in trying to climb upon it, and thus theyfancied they were travelling a great distance. As her friend couldnot carry them with her to school, where she had still to remain fora year, Julia begged that she would lend them to her for that time,promising to take great care of them; and, indeed, she attended tothem herself. Her mother would not allow her to have animals to betaken care of by the servants, for she thought such things can amuseonly when one attends to them oneself, and that if they do not amuse,they are not worth the trouble of having. Julia gave them theirfood frequently enough, but she frequently forgot to shut the case;then they made their escape. They had hitherto been always caught,but one day, when they were out enjoying themselves, and when Julia,according to custom, had been so careless as to leave her door open,a cat entered, and Julia, who returned at that moment, saw her eatingone of the mice without any power of preventing it. She was indespair, and exclaimed twenty times, "Oh! the vile cat! the horridcat!" and declared that had she known this, she would never havetaken charge of the mice.
"My dear child," said her mother, when she was a little pacified,"all your misfortune comes from your not having again read, at thattime, the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"But, mamma," said Julia impatiently, "what could that have to dowith it?"
"You would have seen then, that we ought never to undertake anythingwithout being sure of having the power of accomplishing it. Forwhat happened to Louisa and Paul arose from their not sufficientlyconsidering, before they went out to the toy-shop, whether theyshould be able to reach it without going astray, and without beingafraid of the carriages; just as you did not sufficiently consider,before you took charge of the mice, whether you were able to takeproper care of them."
"But, mamma, it would have been necessary to have foreseen."
"That you would have been careless; that the mice would escape froman open case; that when they were out, the cat would eat them. Allthis you might very easily have thought of, had you been able toprofit by the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
Julia thought her mother's raillery very disagreeable, but she wassoon consoled, for her friend, to whom she wrote an account of hermisfortune, told her, in reply, that she was not angry with her,and besides, she was invited to a ball, the first to which she hadbeen since she had left school. Julia danced pretty well. Duringthe two years she had passed at school, she had been one of thoseselected to dance the gavotte, at the distribution of prizes, and asalways happens in polished society, many compliments had been paidher, so that she felt the greatest desire to dance the gavotte at aball. Scarcely had she arrived at this one, when she communicatedher wishes to the daughter of her hostess, who was her cousin, andthe mother having become acquainted with her desire, arranged onefor her, towards the middle of the ball. Madame de Vallonay beingquite ignorant of the matter, was greatly astonished when they camefor Julia to dance. She at first refused to let her go, but the ladyof the house had calculated upon her performing this dance with herson, and thought it would be very pretty to see them in it, as theywere nearly of a size, and also much alike. Madame de Vallonay,finding that she made a point of it, that the company were alreadyarranged for the gavotte, and that this discussion attracted generalattention, consented to let her daughter go, although with extremereluctance, because she considered it absurd to take up in thismanner the attention of every one, in looking at persons who do notpossess any talent capable of affording amusement.
Not so with Julia: convinced that she was going to delight everyone, she walked across the room with a lofty air, which caused muchlaughter. She heard this, and reddened with anger, especially whenshe saw one lady speaking in a whisper, while looking at her with aquizzical air, and heard another behind her saying, "How ridiculousto interrupt the ball, in order to let that little girl dance thegavotte!" However, she was not discouraged; she did her best, heldher head still higher than usual, and displayed all those graceswhich had obtained her such brilliant success at school. She was,therefore, dreadfully annoyed when, at the end, the ironical laughterwhich mingled with the applause, and even the exaggeration of theapplause itself, showed her that she was an object of ridicule.Scarcely had she finished her last courtesy, when the young ladiesand gentlemen crowded forward to take their places in the countrydance. Julia, as with difficulty she passed through them, conductedby her partner, who was wiping his brow, heard it murmured aroundher, "It is well that that is over; it has been a very stupid affair."
She felt deeply humiliated; her heart was oppressed, and she castdown her eyes: she supposed that no one would again ask her to dance,and indeed, two country dances had taken place without her havingbeen invited to join. Anticipating, therefore, nothing but vexationfrom this ball, from which she had promised herself so much pleasure,she told her mother that she was tired, and entreated her to go home.Madame de Vallonay easily guessed the cause of her fatigue; but thatshe might not increase her annoyance, she did not mention the subjectthat evening. The following day, however, she wished to know whetherit was she who requested to dance the gavotte. Julia, though verymuch ashamed, confessed that it was.
"It has turned out very unfortunately for you, my poor Julia," saidMadame de Vallonay; "what a pity that you did not call to mind atthat moment the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"And what use would it have been to me?"
"It would have taught you that we always run the risk of committingfolly, when we wish to follow one general course of action, withoutreflecting whether the circumstances are altered. Thus, Louisa andPaul, who were accustomed to run about alone, in the country, inplaces where there was no danger of their meeting with carriages,or cabriolets, or passers by, never thought that in the streets ofParis, it would be quite a different affair; and you, who were in thehabit of dancing the gavotte at school, where you were applauded,because the strangers who were there were anxious to please themistress, did not reflect that it would be quite another matter whenyou danced it in the midst of a large number of persons, who took nointerest in you, and who were assembled there to dance themselves,and not to look at you."
"But, mamma," said Julia, who was anxious to turn the conversation,"you find everything in Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"I could find many other things also; and if you wish, we shall haveenough there for a long time to come."
"Oh! no, no, mamma, I entreat you."
"I shall be very glad not to speak of it any more, my child, but onlyon one condition, which is, that for the future, you will not takeit into your head to imagine that what is said by grownup people canbe a fit subject of raillery for a little girl like you; and that,when their conversation wearies you, instead of pretending that itdoes so, because it is ridiculous, you will, on the contrary, say toyourself, that it is because you have not sufficient penetration tounderstand it, or sufficient sense to profit by it. Take care, forif you fail,
I shall send you again for instruction to the story ofMadame Croque-Mitaine."
Moral Tales Page 11