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Updated: June 4, 2025
The next morning I wrote to Mother Barberin to express my grief for her loss and to ask her if she had had any news from her husband before he died.
"No, I met some friends at the Notre-Dame café and when we came out it was too late. So we'll go back to-morrow." So Barberin had given up the idea of driving a bargain with the man with the dogs. On the way home I wondered if this was not some trick of his, returning to the house, but his last words drove all my doubts away.
I had written down on paper the names of the places where Barberin had lived before. I went first to one place, then to another. At one lodging house they told me that he had lived there four years ago but that he had not been there since. The landlord told me that he'd like to catch the rogue, for he owed him one week's rent. I grew very despondent.
Perhaps she had said that she was determined to keep me. But when mid day came Barberin told me to put on my cap and follow him. I looked at Mother Barberin to implore her to help me. Without her husband noticing she made me a sign to go with him. I obeyed. She tapped me on the shoulder as I passed her, to let me know that I had nothing to fear. Without a word I followed him.
He doesn't seem to want his supper now, though." Mother Barberin did not seem to want to talk. She went to and fro, waiting on her husband. "Ain't you hungry?" "No." "Well then, go to bed and go to sleep at once. If you don't I'll be angry." My mother gave me a look which told me to obey without answering. But there was no occasion for this warning. I had not thought of saying a word.
An' bymeby, when de waw come he ups an' he says: 'I's done barberin', he says, 'I's gwyne to fine my ole mammy, less'n she's dead. So he sole out an' went to whar dey was recruitin', an' hired hisse'f out to de colonel for his servant; an' den he went all froo de battles everywhah, huntin' for his ole mammy; yes, indeedy, he'd hire to fust one officer an' den another, tell he'd ransacked de whole Souf; but you see I didn't know NUFFIN 'bout dis.
By the bright flame which lit him up I could see that he carried a big stick in his hand. "So, you're having a feast here, don't disturb yourselves," he said roughly. "Oh, Lord!" cried Mother Barberin, putting the frying pan quickly on the floor, "is it you, Jerome." Then, taking me by the arm she dragged me towards the man who had stopped in the doorway. "Here's your father."
"And his arms?" continued Barberin. "Like his legs ... might be better. They can't hold out against fatigue and poverty." "What, them legs and arms? Feel 'em. Just see for yourself." The old man passed his skinny hand over my legs and felt them, shaking his head the while and making a grimace. I had already seen a similar scene enacted when the cattle dealer came to buy our cow.
I told him that I was offering it as a token of affection to my foster mother. "Her name?" he demanded. "Madame Barberin of Chavanon," I replied. "The wife of a mason who met with a serious accident in Paris a few years ago. I know her. That also will be verified." "Oh!..." I became very confused.
"I told Mattia not to speak of all this to you," said my mother, "for though I did believe that you were my son, I had to have certain proofs, and get Madame Barberin here with the clothes. How unhappy we should have been if, after all, we had made a mistake. We have these proofs and we shall never be parted again. You will live with your mother and brother?"
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