THE DILIGENCE.--SISTER ANNE IN PARIS

A young woman who has never been away from her cabin in the woods until she is sixteen years of age, whose condition makes her peculiarly unfamiliar with the world and its customs, must experience countless novel sensations when she finds herself for the first time surrounded by strangers in one of those rolling houses that bear us through city and country.

Such was the case with Sister Anne, who was not eighteen and a half when she left Lyon for Paris with her little son of twenty-one months. Seated in the inmost corner of the conveyance, with her child on her knees, she dared not look at her fellow travellers, and blushed when she saw that they were scrutinizing her.

Her youth, her beauty, her manifest affection for her son, were certain to make her interesting in the eyes of every sympathetic person. But one finds little of that quality in a diligence, and the people about Sister Anne did not seem abundantly provided with it. At her left was a tradesman who talked incessantly of his business, with another tradesman who sat opposite him. The course of shares, the price of sugar, coffee, and cochineal, the transactions that were carried through at the last market, engrossed these gentlemen so completely that they did not even find time to apologize to their neighbors when, in their gesticulations, they stuck an elbow into their ribs or a snuff-box into their faces. At her right, our young mother had a man of some forty years, with a long, gaunt face and an oblique glance, who talked little, but seemed to be listening and trying to become acquainted with his neighbors. Opposite him was a woman of fifty, in an old, stained silk dress, with a dilapidated velvet hat embellished by feathers which resembled fish bones; her bloated face was daubed with rouge, _mouches_, and snuff.

This lady had told her fellow pa.s.sengers, within ten minutes after starting, that, having played _ingenue_ parts at Strasbourg, princesses at Caen, _amoureuses_ at Saint-Malo, shepherdesses at Quimper, queens at Nantes, n.o.ble mothers at Noisy-le-Sec, and _jeunes premieres_ at Troyes, she was on her way to Paris to take the _grande coquette_ parts at the Theatre des Funambules; and that she expected to obtain at once an order permitting her to make her debut at the Comedie-Francaise, which she had been soliciting for thirty-six years. Lastly, beside the would-be debutante was a stout man, who slept most of the time, waking up now and then only to say:

"Oh! we're going over! I thought we had upset!"

An exceedingly pleasant neighbor in a diligence.

During the first few moments, Sister Anne heard nothing but a confused jumble of words which she could not understand, the tradesmen's talk of indigo and cochineal being inextricably mingled with the adventures of the _grande coquette_, who paused only to take snuff and say to her neighbor the sleeper:

"Be careful, monsieur; you're rolling over on me. Show me the respect due to my s.e.x!"

"Oh! we're going over!" the stout man would reply, rubbing his eyes.

After attending to our own comfort, we generally end by turning our attention to other people. The party with the sidelong glance had already complimented Sister Anne on the beauty of her son, and had thereby earned a sweet smile from the dumb girl; one is certain to please a mother by praising her child.

The lady in the old hat also scrutinized Sister Anne, and said:

"She's very good-looking, that little woman--a very interesting face.

That's just the costume I wore in _Annette et Lubin_, in 1792; how becoming it was to me! I must play that part at the Funambules."

The two tradesmen glanced at Sister Anne; but as little Frederic had a lump of sugar in his hand, that naturally brought them back to the recent fluctuations in the price of that staple.

"It's a pretty child," said the actress; "he has a lot of expression already. If he was mine, I'd put him on the stage. In a year he could play Little Joas in _Athalie_, and in two he could manage the antics of Polichinello as a vampire. Ah! that's the way children are brought up now! It's superb! All who stand it are Foriosos at twelve years of age!"

Sister Anne had no idea what Forioso was, or Little Joas, but she saw that her companions were noticing her child, and her heart throbbed with the pleasure and pride so natural in a mother. Soon, however, they began to question her.

"Are you going to Paris to have him vaccinated?" said the actress. "Has he been vaccinated at home? What are you going to do in Paris? Has your husband gone ahead of you?"

As she received no reply to any of these questions, the lady began to lose patience and to consider the young woman's conduct exceedingly impertinent.

"Don't you hear me, madame?" she continued, ironically. "It seems to me that you might do me the honor to answer, when I speak to you."

Sister Anne shook her head and sadly lowered her eyes.

"Well! what does that mean?" cried the old debutante; "I verily believe that she means to imply that she won't answer me! Let me tell you, you little hussy, that I can find a way to make you speak, and that Primerose Berenice de Follencourt is not of a temper to put up with an insult! I've fought on the stage more than once. I've played men's parts, and I know how to use a sword--do you hear, little saucebox?"

Sister Anne, alarmed by the old woman's tone and by her wrathful glance, looked imploringly at her right-hand neighbor; and he, after gazing at her with interest, said to the actress:

"You do wrong to be angry, madame."

"What do you say? I do wrong?"

"Surely; for this young woman's silence is not natural. She has not spoken a word, even to her child, since she has been in the diligence; I think that she is dumb."

"Dumb! a dumb woman! that's impossible, monsieur."

But Sister Anne eagerly nodded her head to confirm the supposition; whereupon the old actress voiced her amazement so emphatically that her neighbor woke up.

"Dumb! can it be possible? Do you hear, monsieur? she's dumb!"

"Oh! I thought we had upset!"

"What an insufferable creature you are! He'll give me the hysterics with his upsets. Poor angel! dear love! are you really dumb, my sweet child?

Oh! how I pity you! how you must suffer! I should much rather be blind and deaf. Poor little thing! how interesting she is! what a charming face! And to be unable to talk! How did it happen, my child?"

Sister Anne, almost as surprised by the actress's sudden outpouring of friendliness as she had been by her anger, took her purse from her bosom, took out the paper which she always carried about her, and handed it to her neighbor, who read it to himself and simply said:

"It's the address of the house she's going to."

"To be a wet-nurse, no doubt. Ah! how beautifully she would act in pantomime! Such a pretty face! how lovely she'd be in _Philomele et Teree_!"

Sister Anne's right-hand neighbor paid no further heed to the old actress; he seemed preoccupied since he had seen the well-filled purse which the young mother took from her breast in order to show him the count's address. From that moment, he redoubled his attentions to her; he caressed little Frederic, and carried his gallantry so far as to buy him barley candy and gingerbread at the first stopping-place. Sister Anne, whose pure and guileless mind saw only friends and protectors everywhere, did not notice the shiftiness of her neighbor's expression, but, on the contrary, felt disposed to give him her full confidence.

Poor child! what will you do in Paris?

During the second day, Sister Anne's neighbor said to her:

"I'm well acquainted with the Comte de Montreville, to whose house you are going. He's a friend of mine. If you like, I'll take you there myself."

The dumb girl signified that she accepted his offer with grat.i.tude; and the old actress, seeing that Sister Anne smiled at her neighbor, pursed up her lips and cast a contemptuous glance at her, muttering between her teeth:

"They're doing well; acquaintance is soon made in a diligence."

Which shows how quick one is to suspect evil, especially when one has done it all one's life. As for Sister Anne, she stared at the actress in amazement; she was utterly unable to understand why, within twenty-four hours, she should treat her with indignation, friendliness, and scorn.

At last the diligence reached the great city: Sister Anne was dazed and bewildered by all that she saw and heard; she felt as if she were in a new world; for having arrived at Lyon after dark and left early in the morning, she had seen nothing of that city, whose great size, wealth, and populousness would have given her some idea of Paris.

The thin, shifty-eyed gentleman, who was persistent in his attentions to the dumb girl and her son, helped them to alight from the diligence; and while the _grande coquette_ of the Funambules rearranged her hat and crumpled feathers, while the two tradesmen hurried to the Bourse, and the stout man walked away congratulating himself that the diligence had not been overturned, the gallant man called a cab, and, having put Sister Anne's bundles inside, he got in with her and the child.

The stranger spoke to the driver, then said to the young mother:

"We will go at once to Monsieur le Comte de Montreville's; I am delighted to take you there myself, for, being a stranger in Paris, you might be seriously embarra.s.sed, as you can't make yourself understood."

Sister Anne thanked him with a glance; the poor child had no suspicion that she had fallen into the hands of a sharper, a vile blackleg, who, after exhibiting his talents in all the larger cities, by divers little exploits which had compelled him to fly from one after another, was now returning to Paris in the hope that an absence of eight years would have caused his former dupes to forget him, and that he would be able to make new ones. But it was inevitable that the dumb girl should fall into the first trap that was set for her. Meek, trusting, unacquainted with craft in any form, she never suspected evil. Her adventure in the forest would have made her afraid of robbers under similar circ.u.mstances; but it had not taught her to distrust those robbers whom she met in the world, and whom it is much more difficult to recognize, because they cover themselves with the mask of probity, which often makes them more dangerous than those who attack us on the highroad.

The cab stopped in front of a handsome house. Sister Anne's escort at once alighted, saying to her:

"Wait a moment; this is the count's house, but we must make sure that he is at home."

With that, he went in, but returned in a few moments with a disappointed air.

"My dear lady, what I was afraid of has happened: the Comte de Montreville is in the country; he won't return for two days."

The girl's expression seemed to say: