XV
There had been no need for words. As soon as Fleurette had entered the shop, Ma’ame Colombe had stretched out her arms, and Fleurette ran to her at once to be enfolded in a great maternal embrace. With her fair hair resting on Ma’ame Colombe’s ample bosom, the child began by having a good cry. She had had none since she heard the fatal news, for excitement had kept every other emotion in check. But now with those motherly arms round her, she felt free to let her sorrow and anxiety have free rein. But only for a moment or two. As soon as she felt Ma’ame Colombe’s ample bosom heaving against hers, and the older woman’s tears wetting the top of her fair head, Fleurette looked up, swiftly drying her eyes, and put on a reassuring smile.
It was difficult to speak at first with all those sobs choking one’s voice; nevertheless, whilst mopping her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, Fleurette contrived to say:
“You know, Ma’ame Colombe, that it is all right, don’t you? About Amédé, I mean.”
“All right, my dear? All right?” the poor woman reiterated, and shook her head with pathetic dubiousness. “How can it be all right, when my Amédé is accused of being a thief? And before the neighbours too!” she added, whilst a deeper tone of crimson than her kitchen-fire had lent to her kind old face, spread over her cheeks.
“That’s just it, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette continued eagerly. “Presently—tonight I hope—everyone will know that it was not Amédé who took those things.”
“Of course he didn’t take them. But you know what village gossip is. If Amédé did not take Madame’s valuables, they keep on saying, how came they to be in our cart-shed? Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” she moaned, “to think that my Hector and I should live to see such disgrace.”
“But, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette put in, somewhat impatient with the older woman’s lamentations, “I am going to Sisteron tonight to tell the gendarme how Madame’s valuables came to be in your cart-shed, and who it was that stole them.”
“You, child? How should you know?”
“Because it was I who took the valuables out of the secret place in Madame’s room,” Fleurette said glibly, “and I gave them to Amédé to take care of, and because it was I who gave them to him, he hid them in a corner of the cart-shed.”
“Holy Virgin!” was all that Ma’ame Colombe was able to say in response to this amazing story, “the child has taken leave of her senses.”
“No, no, Ma’ame Colombe,” Fleurette insisted earnestly; “it is just as I have told you. I took the valuables out of Madame’s room while the soldiers were at the château, and I gave them to Amédé to take care of.”
“But why?” the poor mother exclaimed, in an agony of bewilderment. “In Heaven’s name why?”
“Because—”
And suddenly Fleurette hesitated. A hot flush rose to her cheeks and tears gathered in her eyes. She had felt Ma’ame Colombe’s perplexed glance on her, and for the time a stinging doubt gripped her heart and made her physically almost sick. What views would other people—strangers or even friends—take of her amazing story? of the heavenly voice and the mysterious faggot-carrier with the wonderful twinkling eyes? Would they believe her? or would they deride the whole tale? or again, like dear, kind Ma’ame Colombe, would they just feel anxious, perplexed, not wishing to condemn, and yet vaguely wondering what could have induced a girl like Fleurette to go rummaging about among Madame’s things, and inducing young Amédé to help her to conceal them.
An overpowering impulse prompted her to keep her beloved secret to herself. The sight of Ma’ame Colombe’s grief-stricken face almost shook her resolution, but in the end it was that first impulse which conquered. After all it was only a matter of a few days, hours perhaps, and everything would become crystal-clear. Fleurette’s little handkerchief was now like a wet ball in her hot hands; she breathed on it and dabbed her eyes; she straightened her cap and smoothed down her kirtle.
“And so, dear Ma’ame Colombe,” she said calmly, “I am just going to Sisteron. Probably I shall find Bibi there; but even if I don’t, I shall go up to the Committee of Public Safety, and I shall tell them the whole truth, so that there’ll be no question of Amédé going to fight the English with the stain of theft upon his name.”
It was impossible to say anything more just then, because Louise had arrived at the épicerie, breathless, but happy to catch sight of Fleurette looking quite calm and reasonable.
“I hope you gave the child a good scolding, Ma’ame Colombe,” she said. “The idea of her wanting to trapeze the high road today when all these ruffianly soldiers are still about.”
But Fleurette only smiled. “Neither Ma’ame Colombe, nor anyone else,” she said, “could dissuade me from going to see Bibi now.”
“Why!” Louise exclaimed pettishly, “this morning it was M’sieu’ Amédé you wanted to see.”
“I do want to see Amédé,” Fleurette rejoined simply, “but I must see Bibi first.”
And Louise saw her exchange an understanding glance with Ma’ame Colombe. It was all very bewildering and very terrible. Of course she was terribly sorry for the Colombes, but, just for the moment, she wished them all at the bottom of the sea. A little feeling of jealousy had crept into her heart when she saw Fleurette clinging to Ma’ame Colombe and whispering words into her ears which she, Louise, could not hear, and this uncomfortable feeling added to her discomfort. What could Ma’ame Colombe be thinking about to encourage Fleurette in her obstinacy? Louise could only suppose that all common sense had been drowned in an ocean of grief for the beloved only son.
Ah! if only Monsieur Armand were here!
And with a last sigh, and a none too cordial farewell to Ma’ame Colombe, Louise, dolefully shaking her head, followed Fleurette out of the shop.