Speaker 1: The Lost Child by Francois Coupe. On that morning, which
was the morning before Christmas, two important events happened simultaneously.
The sun rose, and so did Monsieur Jean Baptist to
go to Fois. Unquestionably, the sun, illuminating suddenly the whole
of Paris with its morning rays, is an old friend,
regarded with affection by everybody. It is particularly welcome after
a fortnight of misty atmosphere and gray skies, when the
wind has cleared the air and allowed the sun's rays
to reach the earth again. Besides all of which, the
Sun is a person of importance. Formerly he was regarded
as a god and was called Osiris Apollyon. And I
don't know what else. But do not imagine that because
the Sun is so important, he is of greater influence
than Monsieur Jean Papin Tiste Gordo froit, millionaire, banker, director
of the Compteoi General du Tredi, administrator of several big companies,
Deputy and member of the General Council of the Eure,
Officer of the Legion of Honor, et cetera, et cetera.
And whatever opinion the son may have about himself. He
certainly has not a higher opinion than Monsieur Jean Baptiste
Gordo Froy has of himself. So we are authorized to state,
and we consider ourselves justified in stating that on the
morning in question, at about a quarter to eight, the
son and Monsieur Jean Baptiste Gordo Froit rose. Certainly the
manner of rising of these two great powers mentioned was
not the same. The good old son began by doing
a great many pretty actions. As the sleet had during
the night covered the bare branches of the trees in
the Bouvard Mailllp where the Hotel gour de Foi is situated,
with a powdered coating, the great Magician's son amused himself
by transforming the branches into great bouquets of red coral.
At the same time he scattered his rais impartially on
those poor passers by whom necessity sent out so early
in the morning to gain their daily bread. He even
had a smile for the poor clerk, who, in a
thin overcoat was hurrying to his office, as well as
for the grisette shivering under her thin insufficient clothing. For
the workmen carrying half a loaf under his arm, for
the car conductor as he punched the tickets, and for
the dealer in roast chestnuts who was roasting his first panful.
In short, the sun gave pleasure to everybody in the world.
Monsieur Jean Baptiste Goudoufroy, on the contrary, rose in quite
a different frame of mind. On the previous evening he
had dined with the Minister of Agriculture. The dinner from
the removal of the portage to the salad bristled with truffles,
and the banker's stomach, aged forty seven years, experienced the
burning and biting of pyrosis. So the manner in which
Monsieur Jean Baptiste Gudufoyd rang for his valet de Champre
was so expressive that, as he got some warm water
for his master's shaving, Charles said to the kitchen maid,
there he goes the monkeys barbarously ill tempered again this morning,
My poor Gertrude were going to have a miserable day. Whereupon,
walking on tiptoe, with eyes modestly cast down, he entered
the chamber of his master, opened the curtains, lit the fire,
and made all the necessary preparations for the toilet, with
the discreet demeanor and respectful gestures of a sacristan, placing
the sacred vessels on the altar for the priest. What
sort of weather this morning, demanded Monsieur Gordofoit curtly, as
he buttoned his undervest of grace, worn down upon a
stomach that was already a little too prominent. Very cold, sir,
replied Charles meekly. At six o'clock the thermometer marked seven
degrees above zero. But as you will see, sir, the
sky is quite clear, and I think we are going
to have a fine morning. In stopping his razor, Monsieur
gor Deefoirs approached the window, drew aside one of the hangings,
looked on the boulevard, which was bathed in brightness, and
made a slight grimace which bore some resemblance to a smile.
It is all very well to be perfectly stiff and correct,
and to know that it is bad taste to show
feeling of any kind in the presence of domestics. But
the appearance of the roguish sun in the middle of
December sends such a glow of warmth to the heart
that it is impossible to disguise the fact, so Monsieur
go deu Fois deigned, as before observed, to smile. If
someone had whispered to the opulent banker that his smile
had anything in common with that of the printer's boy
who was enjoying himself by making a slide on the pavement,
Monsieur godu Fraar would have been highly incensed. But it
really was so all the same. And during the space
of one minute, this man, who was so occupied by
business matters, this leading light in the financial and political
worlds indulged in the childish pastime of watching the passers
by and following with his eyes the files of conveyances
as they gaily rolled in the sunshine. But pray do
not be alarmed. Such a weakness could not last long.
People of no account and those who have nothing to do,
may be able to let their time slip by in
doing nothing. It is very well for women, children, poets
and refraff Monsieur Gourdoufoy had other fish to fry, and
the work of the day which was commencing, promised to
be exceptionally heavy. From half past eight to ten o'clock
he had a meeting at his office with a certain
number of gentlemen, all of whom bore a striking resemblance
to Monsieur gourdou Frooits like him, they were very nervous,
they had risen with the sun. They were all blassie,
and they had all the same object in view, to
gain money. After breakfast, which he took after the meeting,
Monsieur gourdou Foy had to leap into his carriage rushed
to the bours to exchange a few words with other
gentlemen who had also risen at dawn, but who had
not the least spark of imagination. Among them, the conversations
were always on the same subject money. From there, without
losing an instant, Monsieur Gurroufoir went to preside over another
meeting of acquaintances. Entirely void of compassion and tenderness. The
meeting was held round a base covered table which was
strewn with heaps of papers and well provided with ink wells.
The conversation again turned on money and various methods of
gaining it. After the aforesaid meeting, he, in his capacity
of deputy, had to appear before several commissions, always held
in rooms where there were base covered tables and ink
wells and heaps of papers. There he found men as
devoid of sentiment, and as he was all utterly incapable
of neglecting any occasion of gaining money, but who nevertheless
had the extreme goodness to sacrifice several hours of the
afternoon to the glory of France. After having quickly shaved,
he donned the morning suit, the elegant cut and finish
of which showed that the old bow of nearly fifty
had not ceased trying to please. When he shaved, he
spared the narrow strip of pepper and salt beard round
his chin, as it gave him the air of a
trustworthy family man in the eyes of the arrogance and
of fools in general. Then he descended to his cabinet,
where he received the file of men who were entirely
occupied by one thought that of augmenting their capital. These
gentlemen discussed several projected enterprises, all of them of considerable importance,
notably that of a new railroad to be laid across
a wild desert. Another scheme was for the founding of
monster works in the environs of Paris, another of a
mine to be worked in one of the South American republics.
It goes without saying that no one asked if the
railroad would have passengers or goods to carry, or if
the proposed works should manufacture cotton, night caps or distill whiskey,
whether the mine was to be of virgin gold or
of second rate copper, certainly not. The conversation of Monsieur
go de Foi's morning callers turned exclusively upon the profits
which it would be possible to realize during the week
which should follow the issue of the shares. They discussed,
particularly the values of the shares, which they knew would
be destined before long to be worth less than the
paper on which they were printed. In fine style. These conversations,
bristling with figures, lasted till ten o'clock precisely, and then
the director of the Comteoi, General du Gredi, who by
the way was an honest man, at least as honest
as is to be found in business, courteously conducted his
last visitor to the head of the stairway. The visitor
named was an old villain as rich as Creases, who
by a not uncommon chance, enjoyed the general esteem of
the public. Whereas, had justice been done to him, he
would have been lodging at the expense of the state
in one of those large establishments provided by a thoughtful
government for smaller delinquents, and there he would have pursued
a useful and healthy calling for a lengthy period, the
exact length having been fixed by the judges of the
Supreme Court. But Monsieur Gurroufoire showed him out relentlessly, notwithstanding
his importance, it was absolutely necessary to be at the
boor set eleven o'clock, and went into the dining room.
It was a luxuriously furnished room. The furniture and plate
would have served to endow a cathedral. Nevertheless, notwithstanding that
Monsieur Goudoufoyd took a gulp of bicarbonate of soda, his
indigestion refused to subside. Consequently, the banker could only take
the scantiest breakfast, that of a dyspeptic. In the midst
of such luxury, and under the eye of a well
paid butler, Monsieur Gourroufoy could only eat a couple of
boiled eggs and nibble a little mutton chop. The man
of money trifled with dessert, took only a crumb of roquefort,
not more than two cents worth. Then the door opened,
and an overdressed but charming little child, young Raoul, four
years old, the son of the company director, entered the room,
accompanied by his German nursery governess. This event occurred every
day at the same hour, a quarter to eleven, precisely
while the carriage which was to take the banker to
the boers was awaiting the gentleman, who had only a
quarter of an hour to give to paternal sentiment. It
was not that he did not love his son. He
did love him. Nay, he adored him in his own
particular way. But then you know, business is business. At
the age of forty two, when already worldly wise and blaise,
he had fancied himself in love with the daughter of
one of his club friends, Marquis de ne Fontaine, an
old rascal, a nobleman, but one whose current playing was
more than open to suspicion, and who would have been
expelled from the club more than once. But for the
influence of Monsieur Gour deu Frooit, the nobleman was only
too happy to become the father in law of a
man who would pay his debts, and without any scruples,
he handed over his daughter, a simple and ingenious girl
of seventeen, who was taken from a convent to be
married to the world the banker. The girl was certainly
sweet and pretty, but he had no dowry except numerous
aristocratic prejudices and romantic illusions, and her father thought he
was fortunate in getting rid of her on such favorable terms.
Monsieur gour deu Foit, who was the son of an
avowed old miser of Antelis, had always remained a man
of the people and intensely vulgar. In spite of his
improved circumstances, he had not improved his entire lack of
tact and refinement was painful to his young wife, whose
tenderest feelings he ruthlessly and thoughtlessly trampled upon. Things were
looking unpromising when happily for her, Madame Gordofroy died in
giving birth to her first born. When he spoke of
his deceased wife, the banker waxed poetical, although had she lived,
they would have been divorced in six months his son.
He loved dearly for several reasons, first because the child
was an only son. Secondly because he was a sky
in of two such houses as Gordofroy and Neufontaine. Finally,
because the man of money had naturally great respect for
the heir to many millions. So the youngster had golden
rattles and other similar toys, and was brought up like
a young dauphin. But his father, overwhelmed with business worries,
could never give the child more than fifteen minutes per
day of his precious time. And as on the day mentioned,
and it was always during cheese and for the rest
of the day, the father abandoned the child to the
care of the serpents. Good morning, Raoul, Good morning Papa,
and the company director, having put his serviette away, set
young Raoul on his left knee, took the child's head
between his big paws, and in stoking and kissing it,
actually forgot all his money matters, and even his note
of the afternoon, which was of great importance to him,
as by it he could gain quite an important amount
of patronage. Papa said little Raoul suddenly will father Christmas,
put anything in my shoe to night. The father answered
with yes, if you are a good child. This was
very striking from a man who was a pronounced tree thinker,
who always applauded every anti clerical attack the chamber with
a vigorous Here here he made a mental note that
he must buy some toys for his child that very afternoon.
Then he turned to the nursery governess with are you
quite satisfied with Raoul? Mademoiselle Berta. Mademoiselle Berta became as
red as a pioneer at being addressed, as if the
question was scarcely. Comille fought and replied by a little
imbecile snigger, which seemed fully to satisfy Monsieur Gorovoit's curiosity
about his son's conduct. It's fine to day, said the financier,
but cold if you take Raoul to Monsau Park, Mademoiselle,
please be careful to wrap him up well. Mademoiselle, by
a second fit of idiotic smiling, having set at rest
Monsieur goro Foit's doubts and fears on that essential point,
he kissed his child, left the room hastily, and in
the hall was enveloped in his fur coat by Charles,
who also closed the carriage door. Then the faithful fellow
went off to the cafe which he frequented, Rue de
Miro Menille, where he had promised to meet the coachman
of the Baroness, who leved opposite to play a game
of billiards thirty up and spot barred, of course, thanks
to the brown bay, for which a thousand francs over
and above its value was paid by Monsieur gur deu
Fois as a result of a sumptuous snail supper given
to that gentleman's coachman by the horse dealer. Thanks to
the expensive brown bay, which certainly went well, the financier
was able to get through his many engagements satisfactorily. He
appeared punctually at the Bourse, sat at several committee tables
and at a quarter to five. By voting with the Ministry,
he helped to reassure France and Europe that the rumors
of a ministerial crisis had been totally unfounded. He voted
with the Ministry because he had succeeded in obtaining the
favors which he demanded as the price of his vote.
After he had thus nobly fulfilled his duty to himself
and his country. Monsieur go Defoarre remembered what he had
said to his child on the subject of Father Christmas,
and gave the coachman the address of a dealer in toys.
There he bought and had put in his carriage a
fantastic rocking horse mounted on casters, a whip in each ear,
a box of laden soldiers, all as exactly alike as
those grenadiers of the Russian regiment of the time of
Paul I, who all had black hair and snub noses,
and a score of other toys, all equally striking and costly. Then,
as he returned home, softly reposing in his well swun carriage,
the rich banker, who after all was a father, began
to think with pride of his little boy and to
form plans for his future. When the child grew up,
he should have an education worthy of a prince, and
he would be one two, for there was no longer
any aristocracy except that of money, and his boy would
have a capital of about eighty million francs. If his father,
a pettifogging provincial lawyer who had formerly dined in the
Latin Quarter when in Paris, who had remarked every evening,
when putting on a white tie, that he looked as
fine as if he were going to a wedding. If
he had been able to accumulate an enormous fortune and
to become thereby a power in the republic, if he
had been able to obtain in marriage a young lady,
one of whose ancestors had fallen at Marignas, what an
important personage little Raoul might become. Monsieur go deu Foir
built all sorts of air castles for his boy, forgetting
that Christmas is the birthday of a very poor little child,
son of a couple of vagrants, born in a stable
where the parents only found lodging through charity. In the
midst of the banker's dreams, the coachman cried door pleased,
and drove into the yard. As he went up the steps,
Monsieur go de Foir was thinking that he had barely
time to dress for dinner, But on entering the vestibule,
he found all the domestics crowded in front of him
in a state of alarm and confusion. In a corner,
crouching on a seat was the German nursery governess crying.
When she saw the banker. She buried her face in
her hands and wept still more copiously than before. Masieur
goru FOI felt that some misfortune had happened. What's the
meaning of all this? What's amiss? What has happened? Charles
the Valet de Champre, a sneaking rascal of the worst type,
looked at his master with eyes full of pity, and stammered,
mister Raoul, my boy lost, sir. The stupid German did it?
Since four o'clock this afternoon, he has not been seen.
The father staggered back like one who had been hit
by a ball. The German threw herself at his feet,
screaming mercy, mercy, and the domestics all spoke at the
same time. Perta didn't go to Park Monceaux. She lost
the child over there on the fortifications. We have sought
him all over, sir. We went to the office for you, sir,
and then to the chamber, but you had just left.
Just imagine the German had a rendezvous with her lover
every day beyond the ramparts near the gate of Asniere.
What a shame. It is a place full of low
gypsies and strolling players. Perhaps the child has been stolen, Yes, sir,
we informed the police at once. How could we imagine
such a thing? A hypocrite, that German. She had a rendezvous,
doubtless with a countryman, a Prussian spy. Sure enough his
son lost. Monsieur gour deu Fois seemed to have a
torrent of blood rushing through his head. He sprang at Mademoiselle,
seized her by the arms and shook her furiously. Where
did you lose him? You miserable girl? Tell me the
truth before I shake you to pieces. Do you hear?
Do you hear? But the unfortunate girl could only cry
and beg for mercy. The banker tried to be calm. No,
it was impossible. Nobody would dare to steal his boy.
Somebody would find him and bring him back. Of that,
there could be no doubt. He could scatter money about
right and left, and could have the entire police force
at his orders, and he would set to work at once,
for not an instant should be lost. Shall don't let
the horses be taken out? You others see that this
girl doesn't escape. I'm going to the prefecture. I'm going
to the prefecture, And Monsieur guru Foir, with his heart
thumping against his sides as if it would break them,
his hair wild with fright, darted into his carriage, which
at once rolled off as fast as the horses could
take it. What irony. The carriage was full of glittering playthings,
which sparkled every time a gas light shone on them.
For the next day was the birthday of the divine infant,
at whose cradle wise men and simple shepherds alike adored
My poor little raoul, poor darling, where is my boy?
Repeated the father. As in his anguish, he dug his
nails into the cushions of the carriage. At that moment,
all his titles and decorations, his honors, his millions were
valueless to him. He had one single idea burning in
his brain, My poor child, Where is my child? At
last he reached the Prefecture of Police, but no one
was there. The office had been deserted for some time.
I am Monsieur gur deu FOI deputy from Lere. My
little boy is lost in Paris, a child of four years.
I must see the prefect. He slipped the Louis into
the hand of the concierge. The good old soul, a
veteran with a gray mustache, less for the sake of
the money than out of compassion for the poor father,
led him to the Prefect's private apartments. Monsieur go du
Fraar was finally ushered into the room of the man
in whom were centered all his hopes. He was in
evening dress and wore a monocle. His manner was frigid
and rather pretentious. The distressed father, whose knees trembled through emotion,
sank into an arm chair, and, bursting into tears, told
of the loss of his boy. Told the stories stammeringly
and with many breaks, for his voice was choked by sobs.
The prefect, who was also a father of a family,
was inwardly moved at the sight of his visit grief,
but he repressed his emotion and assumed a cold and
self important air. You say, sir, that your child has
been missing since four o'clock, yes, just when night was falling. Confounded,
he isn't at all precocious, speaks very little, doesn't know
where he lives, and can't even pronounce his own name. Unfortunately,
that is so not far from Asnier Gate, a suspected quarter.
But cheer up. We have a very intelligent Commissierre de
police there. I'll telephone to him. The distressed father was
left alone for five minutes, how his temples throbbed and
his heart beat. Then suddenly the prefect reappeared, smiling with
satisfaction found. Whereupon Monsieur gu de FOI rushed to the Prefect,
whose hand he pressed till that functionary winced with the pain.
I must acknowledge that we were exceedingly fortunate. The little
chap is blond, isn't he rather pale? In blue velvet,
black felt head with a white feather in it. Yes, yes,
that's he. That's my little Raoul. Well, he's at the
house of a poor fellow down in that quarter, who
had just been at the police office to make his
declaration to the commissaire. Here's his address, which I took
down pieron Rue de cayeu le vay Lois Perree. With
good horses, you may reach your boy in less than
an hour. Certainly you won't find him in an aristocratic quarter.
His surrounding swampy of the highest. The man who found
him is only a small dealer in vegetables, but that
was of no importance to Monsieur guru Foit, who, having
expressed his attitude to the Prefect, leaped down the stairs
for at a time and sprang into his carriage. At
that moment he realized how devotedly he loved his child.
As he drove away, he no longer thought of little
Raoul's princely education and magnificent inheritance. He was decided never
again to hand over the child entirely to the hands
of servants, and he also made up his mind to
devote less time to monetary matters and the glory of France,
and attend more to his own. The thought also occurred
to him that Franz wouldn't be likely to suffer from
the neglect. He had hitherto been ashamed to recognize the
existence of an old maid, sister of his father, but
he decided to send for her to his house. She
would certainly shock his lackeys by her primitive manners and ideas,
but what of that she would take care of him boy,
which to him was of much more importance than the
good opinion of his servants. The financier who was always
in a hurry, never felt so eager to arrive punctually
at a committee meeting as he was to reach the
lost little one. For the first time in his life.
He was longing, through pure affection, to take the child
in his arms. The carriage rolled rapidly along in the clear,
crisp night air down Boulevard Malelb, and, having crossed the
ramparts and passed the large houses, plunged into the quiet
solitude of suburban streets. When the carriage stopped, Monsieur Gurroufoir
saw a wretched hovel on which was the number he
was seeking. It was the house where Pieron lived. The
door of the house opened immediately and a big, rough
looking fellow with red mustache appeared. One of his sleeves
was empty. Seeing the gentleman in the carriage, Pieron said cheerily,
so you are the little one's father. Don't be afraid,
the little darling is quite safe, and stepping aside in
order to allow Monsieur go de Foy to pass, he
placed his finger on his lips with hush, the little
one is asleep. Yes, it was a real hovel. By
the dim light of a little oil lamp. Monsieur Goroufroy
could just distinguish a dresser from which a drawer was missing,
some broken chairs, a round table on which stood a
beer mug which was half empty, three glasses, some cold
meat on a plate, and on the bare plaster of
the wall. Two gaudy pictures, A bird's eye view of
the Exposition of eighteen eighty nine with the Eiffel Tower
in bright blue, and the portrait of General boulangeis when
a handsome young lieutenant his last evidence of weakness of
the tenant of the house may well be excused since
it was shared by nearly everybody in France. The man
took the lamp and went on tiptoe to the corner
of the room, where on a clean bed, two little
fellows were fast asleep. In the little one around whom
the other had thrown a protecting arm. Monsieur go de
Froy recognized his son. The youngsters were tired to death
and so sleepy, said Pieron, trying to soften his rough voice.
I had no idea when you would come, so gave
them some supper and put them to bed, and then
I went to make a declaration at the police office.
Sidor generally sleeps up in the garret, but I thought
they would be better here, and that I should be
better able to watch them. Monsieur gourou Foy, however, scarcely
heard the explanation strangely moved. He looked at the two
sleeps infants on an iron bedstead and covered with an
old blanket which had once been used either in barracks
or hospital. Little Raoul, who was still in his velvet suit,
looked so frail and delicate compared with his companion that
the banker almost envied the latter his brown complexion. Is
he your boy, he asked. Pieron No answered he I
am a bachelor, and don't suppose I shall ever marry
because of my accident. You see a dray passed over
my arm. That was all two years ago. A neighbor
of mine died when that child was only five years old.
The poor mother really died of starvation. She wove wreaths
for the cemeteries, but could make nothing worth mentioning at
that trade, not enough to live. However, she worked for
the child for five years, and then the neighbors had
to buy wreaths for her. So I took care of
the youngster. Oh it was nothing much, and I was
soon repaid. He is seven years old and is a
sharp little fellow. So he helps me a great deal
on Sundays and Thursdays and the other days after school
he helps me push my hand card. Sidor is a
smart little chap. It was he who found your boy,
what exclaimed monsieur guru foir that child. Oh he's quite
a little man, I assure you. When he left school
he found your child, who was walking on ahead, crying
like a fountain. He spoke to him and comforted him
like an old grandfather. The difficulty is that one can't
easily understand what your little one says. English words are
mixed up with German and French, so we couldn't get
much out of him, nor could we learn his address.
Sidor brought him to me. I wasn't far away, And
then all the old women in the place came round,
chattering and croaking like so many frogs, and all full
of advice. Take him to the police, said some. But
Zidoor protested, that would scare him, said he, For like
all Parisians, he has no particular liking for the police.
And besides, your little one didn't wish to leave him,
so I came back here with the child as soon
as I could. They had supper and then off to bed.
Don't they look sweet? When he was in his carriage,
Monsieur go de Foi had decided to reward the finder
of his child handsomely, to give him a handful of
that gold so easily gained. Since entering the house, he
had seen a sight of human nature with which he
was formerly unacquainted. The brave charity of the poor in
their misery, the courage of the poor girl who had
worked herself to death weaving wreaths to keep her child,
the generosity of the poor cripple in adopting the orphan,
and above all, the intelligent goodness of the little street
Arab in protecting the child, who was still smaller than himself.
All this touched Monsieur go de Foy deeply and set
him reflecting, for the thought had occurred to him that
there were other cripples who needed to be looked after,
as well as Pieron, and other orphans as well as Sidor.
He also debated whether it would not be better to
employ his time looking after them, and whether money might
not be put to a better use than merely gaining money.
Such was his reverie as he stood looking at the
two sleeping children. Finally, he turned round to study the
features of the greengrocer, and was charmed by the loyal
expression in the face of the man and his clear,
truthful eyes. My friend said, monsieur go de Froy, you
and your adoption that son have rendered me an immense service.
I shall soon prove to you that I am not ungrateful.
But for to day I see that you are not
in comfortable circumstances, and I should like to leave a
small proof of my thankfulness. But the hand of the
cripple arrested that of the banker, which was diving into
his coat pocket where he kept bank notes. No, sir,
no anybody else should have done just as we have done.
I will not accept any recompense, but pray, don't take offense. Certainly,
I am not rolling in wealth, but please excuse my
pride that of an old soldier. I have the Tonquin medal,
and I don't wish to eat food which I haven't earned,
as you like, said the financier. But an old soldier
like you is capable of something better. You are too
good to push a hand cart. I will make some
arrangement for you. Never fear. The cripple responded with a
quiet smile and said coldly, Well, sir, if you really
wish to do something for me, you'll let me care
for Sidor won't you? Cried Monsieur go de Foy eagerly
that I will was the greatest of pleasure, responded Pieron joyfully.
I have often thought about the child's future. He is
a sharp little fellow. His teachers are delighted with him.
Then Pieron suddenly stopped, and an expression came over his face,
which Monsieur go de Foy had once interpreted as one
of distrust. The thought evidently was, Oh, when he has
once left us, he'll forget us entirely. You can safely
pick the child up in your arms and take him
to the carriage. He'll be better at home than here,
of course. Oh, you needn't be afraid of disturbing him.
He's fast asleep, and you can just pick him up.
He must have his shoes on first, though. Following Pieron's glance,
Monsieur gou deu Foy perceived on the hearth where a
scanty coke fire was dying out two pairs of children's shoes,
the elegant ones of Raoul and the rough ones of Sidor.
Each pear contained a little toy and a package of
bon bonds. Don't think about that, said Pieron in an
abashed tone. Sidor put the shoes there. You know, children
still believing Christmas and the child Jesus. Whatever scholars may
say about fables. So as I came back from the Commissaire,
as I didn't know whether your boy would have to
stay here to night, I got those things for them both,
at which the eyes of Monsieur gou deu foits, the freethinker,
the hardened capitalist and blasis man of the world, filled
with tears. He rushed out of the house, but returned
in a minute with his arms full of the superb
mechanical horse, the box of leaden soldiers, and the rest
of the costly playthings bought by him in the afternoon,
and which had not even been taken out of the carriage.
My friend, my dear friend, said he to the greengrocer.
See these are the presents which Christmas has brought to
my little Daoul. I want him to find them here
when he awakens, and to share them with Sidor, who
will henceforth be his playmate and friend. You'll trust me, now,
won't you. I'll take care both of Sidor and of you,
and then I shall ever remain in your debt. For
not only have you found my boy, but you have
also reminded me, who am rich and lived only for myself,
that there are other poor who need to be looked after.
I swear by these two sleeping children, I won't forget
them any longer. Such is the mirror which happened on
the twenty fourth of December of last year, Ladies and
gentlemen at Paris. In the full flow of modern egotism,
it doesn't sound likely that I own and I am
compelled to attribute this miraculous event to the influence of
the divine Child, who came down to earth nearly nineteen
centuries ago to command men to love one another. End
of the Lost Child by Francois Cope