Jack, Alphonse Daudet [books to read as a couple TXT] 📗

Jack had taken his third glass of wine, he became very cordial, and offered to become this good friend. Chariot accepting the offer with enthusiasm, the boy thought himself justified in at once offering his advice.
"Look here, M. Chariot, listen to me, and don't play any more."
The blow struck home, for the young man's lips trembled nervously, and he swallowed a glass of brandy at one gulp.
At that moment the factory-bell sounded.
"I must go," cried Jack, starting to his feet. And, as his friend had paid for the first and second wine they had drank, he considered it essential that he should now pay in his turn; so he drew a louis from his pocket, and tossed it on the table.
"Hallo! a yellow boy!" said the barkeeper, unaccustomed to seeing such in the possession of apprentices. Chariot started, but made no remark.
"Had Jack been to the wardrobe also?" he said to himself. The boy was delighted at the sensation he had created. "And I have more of the same kind," he added, tapping his pocket. And then he whispered in his companion's ear, "It is for a present that I mean to buy Zenaide."
Chariot said, mechanically, "Is it?" and turned away with a smile.
The innkeeper fingered the gold piece with some uneasiness.
"Hurry," said Jack, "or I shall be late."
"I wish, my boy," said Chariot, "that you could have remained with me until my boat left, which will not be for an hour."
And he gently drew the lad toward the Loire. It was easily done, for, coming out from the cabaret into the cold air, the wine the child had drank made him giddy. It seemed to him that his head weighed a thousand pounds. This did not last long, however. "Hark!" he said; "the bell has stopped, I think." They turned back. Jack was terrified, for it was the first time that he had ever been late at the Works. But Chariot was in despair. "It is my fault," he reiterated. He declared that he would see the Director and explain matters, and was altogether so utterly miserable, that Jack was obliged to console him by saying that it was of no great consequence, after all; that he could afford to be marked 'absent' for once. "I will go with you to the boat."
The boy was so gratified by what he believed to be the good effect of his words on Chariot, that he enlarged on the noble nature of Pere Rondic and of Clarisse.
"O, had you seen her this morning, you would have pitied her. She was so pale that she looked as if she were dead."
Chariot started.
"And she ate nothing. I am afraid she will be ill. And she never spoke."
"Poor woman!" said Chariot, with a sigh of relief which Jack took for one of sorrow.
They reached the wharf. The boat was not there. A thick fog covered the river from one shore to the other.
"Let us go in here," said Chariot It was a little wooden shed, intended as a shelter for workmen while waiting in bad weather. Clarisse knew this shed very well, and the old woman who sold brandy and coffee in the corner had seen Madame Rondic many a time when she crossed the Loire.
"Let us take a drop of brandy to keep out the cold," said Chariot. At that moment a shrill whistle was heard; it was the boat for Saint Nazarre. "Good-bye, Jack, and a thousand thanks for your good advice!"
"Don't mention it," said the lad, heartily; "but pray give up gambling."
"Of course I will," answered the other, hurrying on board to hide his amusement. When Jack was again alone he felt no desire to return to the Works; he was in a state of unusual excitement. Even the heavy fog hanging over the Loire interested him. Suddenly he said to himself, "Why do I not go to Nantes and buy Zenaide's gift to-day?" A few moments saw him on the way; but as there was no train until noon, he must wait for some time, and was compelled to pass that time in a room where there were several of the old employes of the Works, who had been discharged for various misdemeanors. They received the lad civilly enough, and listened attentively when he took up some remark that was made, and uttered some platitudes, stolen from D'Ar-genton, on the rights of labor.
"Listen!" they said to each other; "it is easy to see that the boy comes from Paris."
Jack, excited by this applause and sympathy, talked fast and freely. Suddenly the room swam around--all grew dark. A fresh breeze restored him to consciousness. He was seated on the bank of the river, and a sailor was bathing his forehead.
"Are you better?" said the man.
"Yes, much better," answered Jack, his teeth chattering.
"Then go on board."
"Go where?" said the apprentice, in amazement.
"Why, have you forgotten that you hired a boat, and sent for provisions? And here comes the man with them."
Jack was stupefied with amazement, but he was too weak to argue any point; he embarked without remonstrance. He had a little money left, with which he could buy some little souvenir for Zenaide, so that his trip to Nantes would not be thrown away absolutely. He breakfasted with a poor enough appetite, and sat at the end of the boat, wrapped in thought. He dreamily recalled books that he had read--tales of strange adventures on the sea; but why did a certain old volume of Robinson Crusoe persistently come before him? He saw the rubbed and yellowed page, the vignette of Robinson in his hammock surrounded by drunken sailors, and above it the inscription, "And in a night of debauch I forgot all my good resolutions."
He was brought back to real life by the songs of his companions, and by a pair of keen bright eyes that were fixed upon his own. Jack was annoyed by this gaze, and leaned forward with a bottle in his hand.
"Drink with me, captain!" he said.
The man declined abruptly. The younger sailor whispered to Jack, "Let him alone; he did not wish to take you on board; his wife settled things for him; he thought you had more money than you ought to have!"
Jack was indignant at being treated like a thief. He exclaimed that his money was his own, that it had been given him by------. Here he stopped, remembering that his mother had forbidden him to mention her name. "But," he continued, "I can have more money when I wish it, and I am going to buy a wedding present for Zenaide."
He talked on, but no one listened, for a grand dispute between the two men was well under way as to the place where they should land.
At last they entered the harbor of Nantes. Old houses, with carved fronts and stone balconies, met his eyes, crowded as it were among the shipping at the wharves. Large vessels lay at anchor in the harbor, looking to the boy like captives who panted for liberty, sunshine, and space. Then he thought of Madou, of his flight and concealment among the cargo in the hold. But this thought was gone in a moment, and he found himself on shore between his two companions, whom he soon loses and finds again. They cross one bridge, and then another, and wander with neither end nor aim. They drink at intervals; night comes, and the boy accompanies the sailors to a low dance-house, still in the strange excitement in which he has been all day. Finally, he finds himself alone on a bench, in a public square, in a state of exhaustion that is far from sleep. The profound solitude terrifies him, when suddenly he hears the well-known cry,--
"Hats! hats! Hats to sell!"
"Belisaire!" called the boy.
It was Belisaire. Jack made a futile effort at explanation. The man scolded the boy gently, lifted him up, and led him away.
Where are they going? And who comes here? and what do they want of him? Rough men accost him; they shake him and put irons on his wrists, and he cannot resist, for he is still more than half asleep. He sleeps in the wagon into which he is thrust; in the boat, where he lies utterly inert; and how happy he is after being thus buffeted about to finally throw himself on a straw pallet, shut out from all further disturbance by huge locks and bolts.
In the morning a frightful noise over his head awoke Jack suddenly. Ah, what a dismal awakening is that of drunkenness! The nervous trembling in every limb, the intense thirst and exhaustion, the shame and inexpressible anguish of the human being seeing himself reduced to the level of a beast, and so disgusted with his tarnished existence that he feels incapable of beginning life again.
It was still too dark to distinguish objects, but he knew that he was not in his little attic. He caught a glimpse of the coming dawn in the white light from two high windows. Where was he? In the corner he began to see a confused mass of cords and pulleys. Suddenly he heard the same noise that had awakened him: it was a clock, and one that he well knew. He was at Indret, then, but where?
Could it be that he was shut in the tower where refractory apprentices were occasionally put? And what had he done? He tried to recall the events of the day before, and, confused as his mind still was, he remembered enough to cover him with shame. He groaned heavily. The groan was answered by a sigh from the corner. He was not alone, then!
"Who is there?" asked Jack, uneasily; "is it Belisaire?" he added. But why should Belisaire be there with him?
"Yes, it is I," answered the man, in a tone of desperation.
"In the name of heaven tell me why we are shut up here like two criminals?"
"What other people have been doing I can't tell," muttered the old man; "I only speak for myself, and I have done no harm to any one. My hats are ruined,--and I, too, for that matter!" continued Belisaire, dolefully.
"But what have I done?" asked Jack, for he could not imagine that among the many follies of which he had been guilty there was one more grave than another.
"They say--But why do you make me tell you? You know well enough what they say."
"Indeed, I do not; pray, go on."
"Well, they say that you have stolen Zenaide's dowry."
The boy uttered an exclamation of horror. "But you do not believe this, Belisaire?"
The old man did not answer. Every one at Indret thought Jack guilty. Every circumstance was against the boy. On the first report of the robbery, Jack was looked for, but was not to be found. Chariot had very well managed matters. All along the road there were traces of the robbery in the gold pieces displayed so liberally. Only one thing disturbed the belief of the boy's guilt in the minds of the villagers: what could he have done with the six thousand francs? Neither Belisaire's pocket nor his own displayed any indication that such a sum of money had been in their possession.
Soon after daybreak the superintendent sent for the prisoners. They were covered with mud, and were unwashed and unshorn; yet Jack had a certain grace and refinement in spite of all this; but Belisaire's naturally ugly countenance was so distorted by grief and anxiety, that, as the two appeared, the spectators unanimously decided that this gentle-looking child was the mere instrument of the wretched being with whom he was unfortunately connected. As Jack looked about he saw several faces which seemed