it was neither at the fainting mother nor at joe that cecile now looked. with eyes opening wide with astonishment and hope, she ran forward, caught miss smith's two hands in her own, and exclaimed in a voice rendered unsteady with agitation:
"oh! have you got my purse? is lovedy's russia-leather purse quite, quite safe?"
busy as young mme. malet was at that moment, at the word "lovedy" she started and turned round. but cecile was too absorbed in miss smith's answer to notice anyone else.
"is lovedy's purse quite, quite safe?" asked her trembling lips.
"the purse is safe," answered miss smith; and then joe, who had as yet not even glanced at cecile, also raised his head and added:
"yes, cecile, the russia-leather purse is safe."
"then i must thank jesus now at once," said cecile.
with her weak and tottering steps she managed to leave the room to gain her own little chamber, where, if ever a full heart offered itself up to the god of mercy, this child's did that night.
it was a long time before cecile reappeared, and when she did so order was restored to the malet's parlor. old mme. malet was seated in her own easy-chair by the fire; one trembling hand rested on joe's neck; joe knelt at her feet, and the eyes of this long-divided mother and son seemed literally to drink in love and blessing the one from the other.
all the anxiety, all the sorrow seemed to have left the fine old face of the frenchwoman. she sat almost motionless, in that calm which only comes of utter and absolute content.
miss smith was sitting by the round table in the center of the room, partaking of a cup of english tea. big brother jean was bustling in and out, now and then laying a great and loving hand on his old mother's head, now and then looking at the lost alphonse with a gaze of almost incredulous wonder.
young mme. malet had retired to put her child to bed, but when cecile entered she too came back to the room.
had anyone had time at such a moment to particularly notice this young woman, they would have seen that her face now alone of all that group retained its pain. such happiness beamed on every other face that the little cloud on hers must have been observed, though she tried hard to hide it.
as she came into the room now, her husband came forward and put his arm round her waist.
"you are just in time, suzanne," he said; "the english lady is going to tell the story of the purse, and you shall translate it to the mother and me."
"yes, cecile," said miss smith, taking the little girl's hand and seating her by her side, "if i had been the shrewd old english body i am, you would never have seen your purse again; but here it is at last, and i am not sorry to part with it."
here miss smith laid the russia-leather purse on the table by cecile's side.
at sight of this old-fashioned and worn purse, young mme. malet started so violently that her husband said: "what ails thee, dear heart?"
with a strong effort she controlled herself, and with her hands locked tightly together, with a tension that surely meant pain.
"the day before yesterday," continued miss smith, "i was sitting in my little parlor, in the very house where you found me out, cecile; i was sitting there and, strange to say, thinking of you, and of the purse of gold you intrusted to me, a perfect stranger, when there came a ring to my hall door. in a moment in came molly and said that a man wanted to see me on very particular business. she said the man spoke english. that was the reason i consented to see him, my dear; for i must say that, present company excepted, i do hate foreigners. however, i said i would see the man, and molly showed him in, a seedy-looking fellow he was, with a great cut over his eye. i knew at a glance he was not english-born and i wished i had refused to see him; he had, however, a plausible tongue, and was quite quiet and *well-behaved.
"how astonished i was when he asked for your purse of gold, cecile, and showed me the little bit of paper, in my own writing, promising to resign the purse at any time to bearer.
"i was puzzled, i can tell you. i thoroughly distrusted the man, but i scarcely knew how to get out of my own promise. he had his tale, too, all ready enough. you had found the girl you were looking for: she was in great poverty, and very ill; you were also ill, and could not come to fetch the purse; you therefore had sent him, and he must go back to the south of france without delay to you. he said he had been kept on the road by an accident which had caused that cut over his eye.
"i don't know that i should have given him the purse,—i don't believe i should,—but, at any rate, before i had made up my mind to any line of action, again molly put in an appearance, saying that a ragged boy seemed in great distress outside, and wanted to see me immediately; 'and he too can speak english,' she continued with a smile.
"i saw the man start and look uneasy when the ragged boy was mentioned, and i instantly resolved to see him, and in the man's presence.
"'show him in,' i said to my little servant.
"the next instant in came your poor joe, cecile. oh! how wild and pitiful he looked.
"'you have not given him the purse,' he said, flying to my side, 'you have not given up the purse? oh! not yet, not yet! anton,' he added, 'i have followed you all the way; i could not catch you up before. anton, i have changed my mind, i want you to give me the bit of paper, and i will go back to my old life. my heart is broken. i have seen my mother, and i will give her up. anton, i must have the bit of paper for cecile. cecile is dying for want of it. i will go back to my old master and the dreadful life. i am quite ready. i am quite ready at last.'"
"there was no doubt as to the truth of this boy's tale, no doubt as to the reality of his agitation. even had i been inclined to doubt it, one look at the discomfited and savage face of the man would have convinced me.
"'tis a lie,' he managed to get out. 'madame, that young rogue never spoke a word of truth in his life. he is a runaway and a thief. mine is the true tale. give me the purse, and let me take it to the little girl.'
"'whether this boy is a rogue or not,' i said, 'i shall listen to his tale as well as yours.'
"then i managed to quiet the poor boy, and when he was a little calmer i got him to tell, even in the presence of his enemy, his most bitter and painful history.
"when joe had finished speaking, i turned to the villain who was trying if possible to scare the poor lad's reason away.
"'the threat you hold over this boy is worthless' i said. 'you have no power to deliver him up to his old master. i believe it can be very clearly proved that he was stolen, and in that case the man who stole him is liable to heavy punishment. so much i know. you cannot touch the lad, and you shall not with my leave. now as to the rest of the tale, there is an easy way of finding out which of you is speaking the truth. i shall adopt that easy plan. i shall give the purse to neither of you, but take it myself to the little girl who intrusted it to me. i can go to her by train to-morrow morning. i had meant to give myself a holiday, and this trip will just suit me to perfection. if the boy likes to accompany me to his mother, i will pay his fare third-class. should the old woman turn out not to be his mother and his story prove false, i shall have nothing more to say to him. as to you, anton, if that is your name, i don't think i need have any further words with you. if you like to go back to the little girl, you can find your own way back to her. i shall certainly give to neither of you the purse.
"my dear," continued miss smith, "after this, and seeing that he was completely foiled, and that his little game was hopeless, that bad man, anton, took it upon him to abuse me a good deal, and he might, it is just possible, he might have proceeded to worse, had not this same joe taken him quietly by the shoulders and put him not only out of the room, but out of the door. joe seemed suddenly to have lost all fear of him, and as he is quite double anton's size, the feat was easy enough. i think that is all, my dear. i have done, i feel, a good deed in restoring a son to a mother. joe's story is quite true. and now, my dear, perhaps you will take care of that purse yourself in future."
"and oh, cecile! now—now at last can you quite, quite forgive me?" said joe. he came forward, and knelt at her feet.
"poor joe! dear, dear joe!" answered cecile, "i always forgave you. i always loved you."
"then perhaps the lord christ can forgive me too?"
"oh, yes!"
"that's as queer a story as i ever heard," here interrupted jean malet. "but i can't go to bed, or rest, without hearing more. how did a little maiden like her yonder come by a purse full of gold?"
"i can tell that part," said joe suddenly. "i can tell that in french, so that my mother and my brother can understand. there is no harm in telling it now, cecile, for everything seems so wonderful, we must find lovedy soon."
"but is it not late—is it not late to hear the story to-night?" said suzanne malet in a faint voice.
"no, no, my love! what has come to thee, my dear one?" said her husband tenderly. "most times thou wouldst be eaten up with curiosity. no, no; no bed for me to-night until i get at the meaning of that purse."
thus encouraged, joe did tell cecile's story; he told it well, and with pathos—all about that step-mother and her lost child; all about her solemn dying charge; and then of how he met the children, and their adventures and escapes; and of how in vain they looked for the english girl with the golden hair and eyes of blue, but still of how their faith never failed them; and of how they hoped to see lovedy in some village in the pyrenees. all this and more did joe tell, until his old mother wept over the touching story, and good brother jean wiped the tears from his own eyes, and everyone seemed moved except suzanne, who sat with cheeks now flushed—now pale, but motionless and rigid almost as if she did not hear. afterward she said her boy wanted her, and left the room.
"suzanne is not well," remarked her husband.
"the sad, sad tale is too much for her, dear impulsive child," remarked the old mother.
but honest jean malet shook his head, and owned to himself that for the first time he quite failed to understand his wife.
