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Madame Panpan’s skill and untiring perseverance grew to be, as other resources failed, the main, and for many, many months, the whole support of the family. Then came a time when the winter had passed away, and the spring was already in its full, and still Panpan lay helpless in bed with shrunken limbs and hollow, pallid cheeks,—and then little Henri was born.
Well! said M. Panpan, time rolled on, and little Louis was born. This might have been a blessing, but while family cares and expenses were growing upon them, Panpan’s strength and energies were withering away.
Panpan’s own thoughts upon the subject always reverted to the brass button, although he found few to listen to or encourage him in his idea. His medical patrons were a constant source of suffering to him, but he bore with them patiently; sometimes reviving from his prostration as if inspired, then lapsing as suddenly into his old state of semi-pain and total feebleness.
Panpan’s individual fate, amid all this turmoil, was lamentable enough. A few hours amid the dust; the sweltering heat; the yellings of the excited populace; the roaring of cannon and the pattering of musketry; saw the troop in which he served, broken and scattered, and Panpan himself rolling in the dust, with a thousand lights flashing in his eyes, and a brass button lodged in his side!
There is a quiet, melancholy air about the place which accords well with its traditions; and even the little children who make it their playground on account of the absence of both vehicles and equestrians, pursue their sports in a subdued, tranquil way, hanging about the fountain’s edge, and dabbling in the water with their little fingers. Monsieur Panpan’s residence was not difficult to find.
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