by Hector Malot
CHAPTER XVII
POOR VITALIS
While we were in the street Vitalis said not a word, but soon we came toa narrow alley and he sat down on a mile-stone and passed his handseveral times across his forehead.
"It may be fine to listen to the voice of generosity," he said, asthough speaking to himself, "but now we're in the gutters of Paris,without a sou; not a bite to eat.... Are you hungry?" he asked, lookingup at me.
"I haven't eaten anything since that little roll you gave me thismorning."
"Poor, poor child, and you'll have to go to bed to-night without supper.And where are we going to sleep?"
"Did you count on sleeping at Garofoli's, then?"
"I counted upon you sleeping there, and as he would have given me twentyfrancs for you for the winter, I could have managed for the time being.But, seeing the way he treated those children, I could not give you tohim."
"Oh, you are so good!"
"Perhaps in this old, hardened vagabond there is still a bit of theyoung man's heart left. This old vagabond calculated shrewdly, but theyoung man still in him upset all.... Now, where to go?" he murmured.
It was already late and the cold had increased. It was going to be ahard night. For a long time Vitalis sat on the stone. Capi and I stoodsilently before, waiting until he had come to some decision. Finally herose.
"Where are we going?"
"To Gentilly, to try and find a race-course where I've slept sometimes.Are you tired?"
"I rested at Garofoli's."
"The pity is that I haven't rested, and I can't do much more. But wemust get along. Forward! March! Children!"
This was his good humor signal for the dogs and myself when we wereabout to start, but this night he said it sadly.
Here we were, wandering in the streets of Paris; the night was dark andthe gas jets, which flickered in the wind, lit the alleys but dimly. Ateach step we slipped on the ice-covered pavement. Vitalis held me by thehand, and Capi followed at our heels. From time to time, the poor dogstopped behind to look amongst a heap of garbage to see if he could finda bone or a crust, for he was oh, so hungry, but the garbage was coveredwith frozen snow and he searched in vain. With drooping ears he trottedon to catch up with us.
After the big streets, more alleys; after the alleys, more big streets;we walked on, and on; the few pedestrians that we met stared at us inastonishment. Was it our costumes? Was it the tired way we plodded alongwhich arrested their attention? The policemen that we passed turnedround and followed us with a glance.
Without saying a word, Vitalis tramped on, his back almost bent double,but despite the cold, his hand burned in mine. It seemed to me that hewas trembling. Sometimes, when he stopped to lean for a minute againstmy shoulder, I felt all his body shaken with trembling. Ordinarily, Iwould not dare to have questioned him, but I felt I must to-night.Besides, I had a great wish to tell him how much I loved him or, atleast, that I wanted to do something for him.
"You are ill?" I said, when he stopped again.
"I'm afraid so; anyway, I'm very tired. This cold is too severe for myold blood. I need a good bed and a supper before a fire. But that's adream. Forward! March! Children."
Forward! March! We had left the city behind us; we were now in thesuburbs. We saw no people or policemen or street lights, only a lightedwindow here and there, and over our heads the dark-blue sky dotted witha few stars. The wind, which blew more bitter and more violently, stuckour clothing to our bodies. Fortunately, it was at our backs, but as thesleeves of my coat were all torn near the shoulders, it blew in andslipped along my arms, chilling me to the bone.
Although it was dark and the streets continually crossed each other,Vitalis walked like a man who knows his way, and was perfectly sure ofhis road. So I followed, feeling sure that we should not lose ourselves.Suddenly, he stopped.
"Do you see a group of trees?" he asked.
"I don't see anything."
"You don't see a big black mass?"
I looked on all sides before answering. I saw no trees or houses. Spaceall around us. There was no other sound save the whistle of the wind.
"See, down there!" He stretched out his right hand before him, then, asI did not reply, for I was afraid to say that I saw nothing, he trudgedon again.
Some minutes passed in silence; then he stopped once more and asked meif I did not see a group of trees. A vague fear made my voice tremblewhen I replied that I saw nothing.
"It is fear, my boy, that makes your eyes dance; look again."
"I tell you, I do not see any trees."
"Not on the big road?"
"I can't see anything."
"We've made a mistake."
I could say nothing, for I did not know where we were, nor where we weregoing.
"Let us walk for another five minutes and, if we do not see the trees,we will come back here. I might have made a mistake on the road."
Now that I knew that we had gone astray, I seemed to have no morestrength left. Vitalis pulled me by the arm.
"Come, come."
"I can't walk any farther."
"Ah, and do you think I'm going to carry you?"
I followed him.
"Are there any deep ruts in the road?"
"No."
"Then we must turn back."
We turned. Now we faced the wind. It stung our faces like a lash. Itseemed that my face was being scorched with a flame.
"We have to take a road leading from the cross-roads," said my masterfeebly; "tell me when you see it."
For a quarter of an hour we went on, struggling against the wind; in thedoleful silence of the night the noise of our footsteps echoed on thedry, hard earth. Although scarcely able to put one foot before theother, it was I who dragged Vitalis. How anxiously I looked to the left!In the dark shadows I suddenly saw a little red light.
"See, there's a light," I said, pointing.
"Where?"
Vitalis looked; although the light was but a short distance off, he sawnothing. I knew then that his sight was going.
"What is that light to us?" he asked; "it is a lamp burning on the tableof some worker, or it's near the bed of a dying person. We cannot goand knock at those doors. Away in the country, during the night, youcan ask hospitality, but so near Paris ... we must not expecthospitality here. Come."
A few steps more and I thought I could make out the cross-roads and ablack mass which must be the trees. I let go of my master's hand to goahead quicker. There were deep ruts in the road.
"See, here are the ruts?" I cried.
"Give me your hand, we are saved," said Vitalis; "look, now you can seethe group of trees."
I told him that I thought I could see the trees.
"In five minutes we shall be there," he murmured.
We trudged along, but the five minutes seemed an eternity.
"Where are the ruts?"
"They are still on the right."
"We must have passed the entrance to the race-course without seeing it.I think we'd better go back."
Once more we turned back.
"Do you see the trees?"
"Yes, there on the left."
"And the ruts?"
"There are not any."
"Am I blind?" asked Vitalis in a low voice, as he passed his handsacross his eyes; "walk straight along by the trees, and give me yourhand."
"Here is a wall."
"No, it's a heap of stones."
"No, I am sure it's a wall."
Vitalis took a step aside to see if it really was as I said. Hestretched out his two hands and touched the wall.
"Yes, it's a wall," he murmured. "Where is the entrance. Look for thetrack."
I stooped down to the ground and felt all along to the end of the wall,but I found no entrance; then, turning back to where Vitalis stood, Icontinued to feel along the wall on the other side. The result was thesame; there was no opening, no gate.
"There is nothing," I said.
The situation was terrible. W
ithout doubt my master was delirious.Perhaps there was no race-course here at all! Vitalis stood for a momentas though in a dream. Capi began to bark impatiently.
"Shall we look further?" I asked.
"No, the race-course is walled up."
"Walled up?"
"Yes, they have closed the opening, and it is impossible for us to getinside."
"Well, then?"
"What to do, eh? I don't know. Die here."
"Oh, Master! Master!"
"Yes, you don't want to die, you are so young. Life seems good to you.Let us walk on. Can you still walk a bit further, my child."
"Oh, but you?"
"When I can go no farther, I shall fall down like an old horse."
"Where shall we go?"
"Return to Paris. When we meet a policeman we will let him take us tothe police station. I did not want that, but I cannot let you die ofcold, boy. Come, little Remi, come. On, my children. Courage!"
We turned back the same way that we had come. What time was it? I had noidea. We had walked for hours, a long, long time, and so slowly. Perhapsit was midnight or one o'clock. The sky was still a somber blue, withoutmoon, and with but few stars, and the few that had appeared seemed to meto be smaller than usual. The wind had increased; the snow beat in ourfaces; the houses that we passed were closed for the night. It seemed tome that if the people who slept there, warmly beneath the sheets, knewhow cold we were outside, they would have opened their doors to us.
Vitalis walked slower and slower; when I spoke to him he made a sign tome to be silent. We were now nearing the city. Vitalis stopped. I knewthat he had come to the end of his strength.
"Shall I knock at one of the doors?" I asked.
"No, they will not let us in. They are gardeners who live here. Theysupply the market. They would not get up at this hour to take us in. Letus go on."
But he had more will than strength. After a moment he stopped again.
"I must rest a little," he said, feebly; "I can't go on."
There was a gate leading to a big garden. The wind had blown a lot ofstraw, that covered a manure heap near the gate, into the street.
"I am going to sit here," said Vitalis.
"You said that if we sat down we should get too cold to get up again."
He made no reply, but signed for me to heap up the straw against thedoor; then he fell, rather than sat down upon it. His teeth chatteredand all his body shook.
"Bring some more straw," he said; "with a lot of straw we can keep thewind from us."
The wind, yes, but not the cold. When I had gathered up all the strawthat I could, I sat down beside Vitalis.
"Come quite close to me," he said, "and lift Capi on your lap. He willgive you some warmth from his body."
Vitalis was ill. Did he know how ill? As I crept close up against him,he bent over and kissed me. That was the second time he had kissed me.Alas! it was the last.
Scarcely had I cuddled up against Vitalis than I felt my eyes close. Itried to keep them open, but I could not. I pinched my arms, but therewas no feeling in my flesh. On my legs, which were drawn up to my chest,Capi slept already. The wind blew the wisps of straw upon us like driedleaves that fall from a tree. There was not a soul in the street, andaround us was the silence of death.
This silence frightened me. Of what was I afraid? I did not know, but avague fear came over me. It seemed to me that I was dying there. Andthen I felt very sad. I thought of Chavanon, of poor Mother Barberin.Must I die without seeing her again, and our little house, and my littlegarden! Then, I was no longer cold; it seemed that I was back in mylittle garden. The sun was shining and was so warm. The jonquils wereopening their golden petals; the birds were singing in the trees and onthe hedges. Yes, and Mother Barberin was hanging out the clothes thatshe had just washed in the brook, which rippled over the pebbles. Then Ileft Chavanon, and joined Arthur and Mrs. Milligan on the _Swan_. Thenmy eyes closed again, my heart seemed to grow heavy, and I remembered nomore.