That terrible midnight ride in the wagon, with the piled-up furniture, the two black drivers, who seemed to the child’s distorted imagination two frightful demons, madame angry, and at times violent if she complained or cried, and the frightful threats and cruel hints of a more dreadful fate, had so crushed and appalled the child that she scarcely dared open her pale little lips either to protest or plead.
Then the pitiful change in her life, from loving care and pleasant companionship to utter squalid misery and neglect. She had been, suddenly taken from comparative comfort and plunged into the most cruel poverty. Good Children Street had been a paradise compared to the narrow, dirty lane, on the outskirts of the city, where madame had hidden herself; for the wretched woman, in her fear and humiliation, seemed to have lost every vestige of ambition, and to have sunk without the least effort to save herself, to a level with those around her.
Madame had taken a terrible cold in her hurried flight, and it had settled in her lame hip; therefore she was obliged to lie in her bed most of the time, and the little money she had was soon spent. Hunger was staring her in the face, and the cold autumn winds chilled her to the marrow. She had been poor and in many bitter straits, but never before like this. Now she dared not let any one know of her whereabouts, and for that reason the few friends that she still had could not help her. She was ill and suffering, and alone in her misery. Her son had robbed and deserted her, and left her to her punishment, and, for all she knew, she must die of starvation. Through the aid of the negro Pete, she had parted with nearly everything of value that she had, and, to crown her cruelty and Lady Jane’s misery, one day when the child was absent on a begging expedition she sold the blue heron to an Italian for two dollars.
The bird was the only comfort the unhappy little creature had, the only link between the past and the miserable present, and when she returned to her squalid home and found her only treasure gone, her grief was so wild and uncontrollable that madame feared for her life. Therefore, in order to quiet the child, she said the bird had broken his string and strayed away.
After this, the child spent her days wandering about searching for Tony.
When madame first sent her out into the street to sing and beg, she went without a protest, so perfect was her habit of obedience, and so great her anxiety to please and conciliate her cruel tyrant. For, since the night when madame fled from Good Children Street, she had thrown off all her pretenses of affection for the hapless little one, whom she considered the cause of all her misfortunes.
“She has made trouble enough for me,” she would say bitterly, in her hours of silent communion with her own conscience. “If it hadn’t been for her mother coming to me, Raste wouldn’t have had that watch and wouldn’t have got locked up for thirty days. After that disgrace, he couldn’t stay here, and that was the cause of his taking my money and running off. Yes, all my trouble has come through her in one way or another, and now she must sing and beg, or she’ll have to starve.”
Before madame sent her out, she gave Lady Jane instructions in the most imperative manner. “She must never on any account speak of Good Children Street, of Madelon or Pepsie, of the d’Hautreves, of Gex, or the Paichoux, or of any one she had ever known there. She must not talk with people, and, above all, she must never tell her name, nor where she lived. She must only sing and hold out her hand. Sometimes she might cry if she wanted to, but she must never laugh.”
These instructions the child followed to the letter, with the exception of one. She never cried, for although her little heart was breaking she was too proud to shed tears.
It was astonishing how many nickels she picked up. Sometimes she would come home with her little pocket quite heavy, for her wonderful voice, so sweet and so pathetic, as well as her sad face and wistful eyes, touched many a heart, even among the coarsest and rudest, and madame might have reaped quite a harvest if she had not been so avaricious as to sell Tony for two dollars. When she did that she killed her goose that laid golden eggs, for after the loss of her pet the child could not sing; her little heart was too heavy, and the unshed tears choked her and drowned her voice in quivering sobs.