"There oft are heard the notes of infant woe, The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall -How can you, mothers, vex your infants so?"--POPE"D'abord, madame, c'est impossible!--Madame ne descendra pas ici?"said Francois, the footman of Madame de Fleury, with a half expostulatory, half indignant look, as he let down the step of her carriage at the entrance of a dirty passage, that led to one of the most miserable-looking houses in Paris.
"But what can be the cause of the cries which I hear in this house?" said Madame de Fleury.
"'Tis only some child who is crying," replied Francois; and he would have put up the step, but his lady was not satisfied.
"'Tis nothing in the world," continued he, with a look of appeal to the coachman, "it CAN be nothing, but some children who are locked up there above. The mother, the workwoman my lady wants, is not at home: that's certain.""I must know the cause of these cries; I must see these children"said Madame de Fleury, getting out of her carriage.
Francois held his arm for his lady as she got out.
"Bon!" cried he, with an air of vexation. "Si madame la vent absolument, a la bonne heure!--Mais madame sera abimee. Madame verra que j'ai raison. Madame ne montera jamais ce vilain escalier. D'ailleurs c'est au cinquieme. Mais, madame, c'est impossible."Notwithstanding the impossibility, Madame de Fleury proceeded; and bidding her talkative footman wait in the entry, made her way up the dark, dirty, broken staircase, the sound of the cries increasing every instant, till, as she reached the fifth storey, she heard the shrieks of one in violent pain. She hastened to the door of the room from which the cries proceeded; the door was fastened, and the noise was so great that, though she knocked as loud as she was able, she could not immediately make herself heard.
At last the voice of a child from within answered, "The door is locked--mamma has the key in her pocket, and won't be home till night; and here's Victoire has tumbled from the top of the big press, and it is she that is shrieking so."Madame de Fleury ran down the stairs which she had ascended with so much difficulty, called to her footman, who was waiting in the entry, despatched him for a surgeon, and then she returned to obtain from some people who lodged in the house assistance to force open the door of the room in which the children were confined.
On the next floor there was a smith at work, filing so earnestly that he did not hear the screams of the children. When his door was pushed open, and the bright vision of Madame de Fleury appeared to him, his astonishment was so great that he seemed incapable of comprehending what she said. In a strong provincial accent he repeated, "Plait-il?" and stood aghast till she had explained herself three times; then suddenly exclaiming, "Ah! c'est ca;"--he collected his tools precipitately, and followed to obey her orders.
The door of the room was at last forced half open, for a press that had been overturned prevented its opening entirely. The horrible smells that issued did not overcome Madame de Fleury's humanity:
she squeezed her way into the room, and behind the fallen press saw three little children: the youngest, almost an infant, ceased roaring, and ran to a corner; the eldest, a boy of about eight years old, whose face and clothes were covered with blood, held on his knee a girl younger than himself, whom he was trying to pacify, but who struggled most violently and screamed incessantly, regardless of Madame de Fleury, to whose questions she made no answer.
"Where are you hurt, my dear?" repeated Madame de Fleury in a soothing voice. "Only tell me where you feel pain?"The boy, showing his sister's arm, said, in a surly tone--"It is this that is hurt--but it was not I did it.""It was, it WAS!" cried the girl as loud as she could vociferate:
"it was Maurice threw me down from the top of the press.""No--it was you that were pushing me, Victoire, and you fell backwards.--Have done screeching, and show your arm to the lady.""I can't," said the girl.
"She won't," said the boy.
"She cannot," said Madame de Fleury, kneeling down to examine it.
"She cannot move it; I am afraid that it is broken.""Don't touch it! don't touch it!" cried the girl, screaming more violently.
"Ma'am, she screams that way for nothing often," said the boy.
"Her arm is no more broke than mine, I'm sure; she'll move it well enough when she's not cross.""I am afraid," said Madame de Fleury, "that her arm is broken.""Is it indeed?" said the boy, with a look of terror.
"Oh! don't touch it--you'll kill me; you are killing me," screamed the poor girl, whilst Madame de Fleury with the greatest care endeavoured to join the bones in their proper place, and resolved to hold the arm till the arrival of the surgeon.
From the feminine appearance of this lady, no stranger would have expected such resolution; but with all the natural sensibility and graceful delicacy of her ***, she had none of that weakness or affection which incapacitates from being useful in real distress.
In most sudden accidents, and in all domestic misfortunes, female resolution and presence of mind are indispensably requisite:
