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Updated: June 4, 2025
Oh, I did not want to be like those children. I did not want to have a number hung round my neck. I did not want them to call after me, "Hi, Workhouse Kid; Hi Foundling!" The very thought of it made me feel cold and my teeth chatter. I could not go to sleep. And Barberin was coming back soon! But fortunately he did not return until very late, and sleep came before he arrived.
Barberin was telling him that he had brought me to the village to take me to the mayor's office, so that the mayor should ask the Charity Home to pay for my keep. That was all that dear Mother Barberin had been able to do, but I felt that if Barberin could get something for keeping me I had nothing to fear.
And when I want to turn him out I'll do so." "Perhaps there's a way to get rid of him now," said the old man after a moment's thought, "and make a little money into the bargain." "If you'll show me how, I'll stand a drink." "Order the drinks, the affair's settled." "Sure? "Sure." The old man got up and took a seat opposite Barberin. A strange thing, as he rose, I saw his sheepskin move.
My father then asked why Barberin had not come with me. I told him that he was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to my mother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased that Barberin was dead?
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.
Having been told this, I intended them to be a surprise for Mother Barberin. I had not breathed a word about this present I had for her. I planted them in my own bit of garden. When they began to shoot I would let her think that they were flowers, then one fine day when they were ripe, while she was out, I would pull them up and cook them myself. How?
After a time Mother Barberin went on: "How Paris has changed you! You wouldn't have spoken like that to me before you went away." "Perhaps not. But if Paris has changed me, it's also pretty near killed me. I can't work now. We've got no money. The cow's sold. When we haven't enough to feed ourselves, have we got to feed a child that don't belong to us?" "He's mine." "He's no more yours than mine.
"Oh, tell me the story!" Then he told me the story of Joachim Murat; for hours we sat on the bench. As he talked, the pale light from the moon fell across him, and I listened in rapt attention, my eyes fixed on his face. I had not heard this story before. Who would have told me? Not Mother Barberin, surely! She did not know anything about it. She was born at Chavanon, and would probably die there.
"You're the boy they're looking for; I'm sure you are," said the old woman again. "Yes, yes, I'm the boy. Where's my family? Can you tell me?" "I don't know any more than just what I've told you, my boy; I should say my young gentleman." "What did Barberin say about my parents? Oh, do tell me," I said imploringly. She threw her arms up towards heaven. "Ah, if that isn't a story!"
With my eyes full of tears I looked around, but there was no one near to help me. No one on the road, and no one in the field close by. I began to call: "Mamma ... Mother Barberin!" But no one replied to my call, and my voice trailed off into a sob. I had to follow Vitalis, who had not let go of my wrist. "Good-by and good luck," cried Barberin. Then he entered the house. It was over.
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