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Updated: June 14, 2025
Brossard took the loaf from him, and pointed with it to the stairway, a mute command for Jules to go to bed at once. Tingling with a sense of injustice, the little fellow wanted to shriek out in all his hunger and misery, defying this monster of a man; but a struggling sparrow might as well have tried to turn on the hawk that held it.
Brossard says he shall tell him how troublesome I am, and likely he will turn me out, too. Or, if he doesn't do that, they will both whip me every day." Joyce stamped her foot. "I don't believe it," she cried, indignantly. "Brossard is only trying to scare you. Your uncle is an old man now, so old that he must be sorry for the way he acted when he was young.
Brossard was only the caretaker of the Ciseaux place, but he had been there for twenty years, so long that he felt himself the master. The real master was in Algiers nearly all the time. During his absence the great house was closed, excepting the kitchen and two rooms above it. Of these Brossard had one and Henri the other.
"It's my brother Jules's grandson," was the curt explanation that monsieur offered. "Jules is dead, and so is his son and all the family, died in America. This is his son's son, Jules, the last of the name. If I choose to take him from a foreign poorhouse and give him shelter, it's nobody's business, Louis Brossard, but my own."
"Madame Brossard," said the professor, "you have a new client to-day." "That monsieur who arrived this morning," I suggested. "He was an American," said the hostess, knitting her dark brows "but I do not think that he was exactly a monsieur." "Bravo!" I murmured. "That sketches a likeness. It is this 'Percy' without a doubt." "That is it," she returned. "Monsieur Poissy is the name he gave."
And you, my friend" he turned to me as Madame Brossard, obviously distressed and frightened, but none the less intelligent for that, skurried away to do his bidding "my friend, will you help us? For we need it!" "Anything in the world!" "Go to Pere Baudry's; have him put the least tired of his three horses to his lightest cart and wait in the road beyond the cottage.
There in the doorway stood Brossard, bigger and darker and more threatening than he had ever seemed before. A frightened little gasp was all that the child had strength to give. He turned so sick and faint that his nerveless fingers could no longer hold the crock. It fell to the floor with a crash, and the milk spattered all over the pantry. Jules was too terrified to utter a sound.
"I think," said Madame Brossard, "I think one would call her Spanish, but she is very fat, not young, and with a great deal too much rouge " She stopped with an audible intake of breath, staring at my friend's white face. "Eh! it is bad news?" she cried. "And when one has been so ill " Keredec checked her with an imperious gesture. "Monsieur Saffren and I leave at once," he said.
Knowing so little of the world, he judged all grown people by his knowledge of Henri and Brossard. "Oh, what will they do to us?" he gasped. "Nothing at all," answered Joyce, bravely, although her heart beat twice as fast as usual as monsieur's accusing face rose up before her. "It was all my fault," said Jules, ready to cry. "What must I do?"
Madame Brossard is pleased that he is coming to Les Trois Pigeons, but I tell her it is only natural. He comes now for the first time because he likes the quiet, but he will come again, like monsieur, because he has been here before. That is what I always say: 'Any one who has been here must come again. The problem is only to get them to come the first time. Truly!"
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