Volume 14 / Part 2 — XVI THE BLACK HEN

A gentleman, dressed in the height of fashion, alighted from the railway train and walked slowly up the steep hill leading to Chelles. As he walked along, this gentleman looked all about, pausing sometimes to admire the landscape.

“The suburbs of Paris are charming,” he said to himself; “how many people go a long distance in search of sites and points of view which are far inferior to these! But one never does justice to what is close at hand—to what one can enjoy without trouble and expense! We must needs go to Italy, where it is too hot, where most of the inns are detestable, where the living is wretched, and where there is still danger of being attacked by brigands; for it is good form to go to Italy!—Or we must needs go to Switzerland, where we freeze to death, where we destroy our respiration climbing mountains, where we walk on the edge of precipices of which the mere sight gives one vertigo, where we drink a lot without ever being hilarious, where everybody goes to bed with the hens, where the cooking doesn’t approach the French cooking. But it’s good form to go to Switzerland!—We go to England, where there is always a fog, blended with a dense smoke which makes the eyes ache; where one is expressly forbidden to indulge in any form of amusement on Sunday; where a shilling goes little farther than a sou does here; where the cooking is even worse than in Switzerland and Italy. But a trip to England cannot be dispensed with.

“And people laugh at me, forsooth, because I have always preferred Montfermeil, Ville d’Avray, Meudon, Montmorency, Enghien, Saint-Cloud, Champrosay, Saint-Germain, Vincennes, L’Isle-Adam, yes, even poor little Romainville, to England, Switzerland and Italy!

“But what do I care for their sneers? I have always had common sense enough to do what I pleased, instead of feeling compelled to do as others do, when it would have displeased or bored me to do it. The man is a great fool who, instead of following his inclinations, his tastes, his desires, says to himself: ‘But if I do this, people will laugh at me!’ especially when you consider how grateful the world is for what you do for it! Will it prevent the world from crying you down, from slandering you, from turning you to ridicule at the first opportunity? No, indeed! on the contrary, it will grasp the occasion in hot haste. Then, why incommode yourself for the world?

“O ye charming hillsides that surround Paris! I have never wearied of visiting and admiring you. I have left it to chronic tourists to fatigue themselves with long and difficult journeys, while I, at Asnières or Neuilly, feasted my eyes on the verdant islets that embellish the Seine; and at Romainville, so sneered at by people who do not know it, I have found, while walking near the fort, or on the low hills overlooking Pantin, views of an immense expanse of country, of which a native of Zurich or Lucerne would not have been ashamed.

“I have been to Villemomble, to Gagny, and many times to Couberon—too many times, indeed! for that was where that fatal episode happened. But I have never before been to Chelles. One has never seen everything! Even if you confine yourself to a radius of ten or twelve leagues around Paris, some village always escapes you.

“And it is at Chelles that Madame de Belleville has bought a country estate—a very pretty, very elegant place, they say. But why at Chelles, so near Couberon—a region which must recall painful memories, to say the least? It seems very strange to me; that woman never does anything without some motive, some object. And I determined upon this little excursion in order to discover her motive.

“O my superb Thélénie! it’s of no use for you to change your name and residence and style of living; I have sworn not to lose sight of you, and you shall not escape me.

“She refuses to tell me what she did with my son; and I am certain that that child is in existence. If he were dead, she would have furnished me with proofs of his death, in order to avoid my importunities. But let some chance circumstance place her at my mercy, and then she will be forced to speak.”

While pursuing these reflections, Beauregard had reached the first houses of the village. Desiring to ascertain the location of Thélénie’s estate, he stopped and looked about, proposing to question the first peasant who should pass. Soon he saw an old fellow, with a shrewd, cunning air, approaching him, holding against his breast an object for whose safety he seemed most solicitous.

As Beauregard was about to step forward to meet this peasant, the latter was accosted by a bourgeois who came from another direction.

Our fine gentleman from Paris, who was in no hurry at all, leaned against a tree, saying to himself:

“Let us wait a bit; perhaps I may learn something about the people of this region.”

“Come, come, Père Ledrux; I was getting impatient, so I came to meet you,” said the bourgeois to the peasant.

“Here I am, Monsieur Jarnouillard, here I am; I was just going to your house; I couldn’t finish my work before.”

“Have you been working for Madame de Belleville, too?”

“I should say so! I’ve been working there these three days; fixing borders and flowers, raking paths, and trimming bushes!”

“Haven’t they a gardener of their own?”

“Yes; but that man can’t do everything. Bless me! there’s so many preparations for the party to-night! Oh! it’s going to be splendid! no one ever saw anything finer in a king’s palace. Colored lamps hung in garlands; and rare flowers—flowers that I myself don’t know! They’ve sent for big boxes of ‘em—like Madame Droguet; and they’ve had lots of new baskets made.”

“Those people seem to like to throw their money out of the window!”

“Well! they spend a lot; but they seem able to afford it. You’re going to the party, I suppose, Monsieur Jarnouillard—you and madame?”

“Parbleu! I should say so! I’ve had to have my coat turned, and my wife has bought an embroidered collar. It’s ruinous, you see; but let’s come to our business, Père Ledrux: I asked you if you happened to have a hen to sell me—cheap—second-hand.”

“Tutu—turlututu.—That’s good, Monsieur Jarnouillard! a second-hand hen! You says: ‘I want a good layer’; and I’ve brought you a famous one.—Here, look at this hen!”

“Ah! she is black.”

“Well, why not? they’re the best, because it’s been noticed, as a general rule—Black hens are the best, you see.”

“Is there any reason for that?”

“There must be a reason; I don’t know what it is, but there is one, for sure.—But yes, I do know it—it’s because the roosters like hens of that color best.”

Monsieur Jarnouillard had taken the hen and was examining it in every part; he even lifted up her feathers, so that the peasant cried:

“I say! do you propose to pluck her?”

“No; but I want to know what I am buying. She’s very thin.”

“Thin! You call that a thin hen! Why, she’s in fine case; and then, good layers are never fat; they’re just like women: when they get very plump—no more children, no more little ones; the fun’s all over.”

“Ah! you know that, do you—and you a gardener?”

“I have heard Doctor Antoine Beaubichon say so often enough.”

“Well! what price do you want for your hen? Madame Jarnouillard’s the one who has taken a whim for having fresh eggs; for, as for me, I don’t care anything about them.”

“If you don’t want a hen, what made you ask me for one?”

“How much do you want for your hen?”

“Well! if I sell her to you for four francs, it’s none too much—if she gives you three eggs a day.”

“Do you take me for a child just out of a crib?”

“Oh, no! deuce take it! if children was born like you, all shrivelled and shrunk, then there wouldn’t be any young folks.”

“Name me a reasonable price.”

“You call four francs too much—for a black hen—and one like this!”

“Sell me one that isn’t black; I don’t care.”

“Just now, this is all I’ve got. Come, I don’t want to be hard with you; give me three francs, and take her.”

“Not if I know it!”

“Well then, how much will you give me for her?”

“Thirty sous—that’s quite enough!”

“Thirty sous, for a black hen of this breed! A splendid hen! Come, give me fifty sous.”

“No!”

“What a skinflint this Monsieur Jarnouillard is!—Come, forty sous, and call it a bargain.”

“I won’t give a sou more than thirty!”

“Oh well! if that’s so, give me back my hen this minute. Bless me! you want all for nothing, and even then you must make a profit; I ought to have known that I couldn’t do business with you.”

“Because I don’t allow myself to be taken in!”

“No, but you take other folks in!”

“Père Ledrux!”

“Monsieur Jarnouillard!”

“No harsh words, I beg.”

“Give me back my hen!”

“Here she is. It isn’t too late; thirty sous.”

“I’d rather eat her!”

Monsieur Jarnouillard walked away, leaving Père Ledrux with his hen, which he looked at with an ill-humored air, then abruptly replaced under his jacket. Whereupon Beauregard, who had been much amused by the conversation that he had overheard, walked up to the peasant and said:

“I’ll buy your hen!”

“You, monsieur,” ejaculated the gardener, surprised by the offer of this fine gentleman, whom he had not previously observed.

“Yes, I; won’t you sell her to me?”

“Oh, yes! indeed I will; but it seems sort of strange that you should buy her, because you don’t look like a dealer in hens, or eggs.”

“In truth, that is not my business; but there must be a beginning to everything. I’ll give you a hundred sous for your hen; does that suit you?”

“A hundred sous! pardi! I should think it did suit me! She’s yours, monsieur.”

And the peasant made haste to offer the hen to Beauregard. But he, taking a five-franc piece from his pocket, handed it to Père Ledrux, saying:

“Yes, a hundred sous, cash, and here it is; but on one condition.”

“What is it, monsieur?”

“That you will keep the hen at your place and take care of her.”

“Ah! monsieur leaves her with me as a boarder?” rejoined Ledrux, pocketing the five francs.

“Yes; does that displease you?”

“Not at all—just the opposite; I don’t ask anything better. Monsieur can flatter himself that he’s bought a splendid hen.”

“Does she lay often?”

“Well! that depends on the sun; there’s times when she does. Shall I keep the eggs for monsieur, too?”

“No, no! I’ll give them to you.”

“You see, she eats a good deal, this hen does; why, she’s always hungry; and what I get for the eggs won’t buy enough grain for her.”

Beauregard began to laugh as he watched the peasant’s weasel face.

“Does it make monsieur laugh because I say this hen needs a lot of grain?”

“No; I was simply thinking that you understand business perfectly; but never fear, I’ll reimburse you in full for all this fowl costs you.”

“Oh! I ain’t afraid, monsieur; I said that just to warn you, because I rather think monsieur don’t belong round here?”

“No, I have never been to Chelles until to-day.”

“And I can guess why monsieur has come to-day!”

“You can guess?”

“I see by monsieur’s looks that he must be one of Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s guests, and that he’s come for the party they’re going to give at their place to-day.”

“I am, as you say, acquainted with the persons you mention.”

“Very fine folks!”

“I fancy that you haven’t known them long?”

“No, they’ve only been here about two months.”

“And you know already that they are fine folks?”

“Oh! that’s the way folks talk, you know. When a person spends a lot of money and pays, we say: ‘They’re fine folks.’”

“And when they are poor creatures who live on little or nothing and undergo innumerable privations, you don’t say that of them, eh?”

“Ha! ha! what you say’s true all the same, monsieur.”

“Do you belong here?”

“Yes, monsieur; florist and gardener by trade; Père Ledrux. Everybody knows me!”

“And I’ll wager that you know everybody?”

“Well! it’s sure enough that I go about everywhere in the way of my trade; and then a body talks a bit, you know; it sort of rests you.”

“In that case, as I require some information, as I wish to know something about the society of this neighborhood, I think that you are just the man I want.”

“Monsieur couldn’t apply in a better quarter. As for the hen’s board——”

“Here’s five francs more for the first outlay; for, from what you tell me, I see that it costs a great deal to feed her.”

The old peasant put the second five-franc piece in his pocket, saying:

“But I’ll take such good care of her! You won’t know her after a little while. If monsieur would like to come to our house to see where I live——”

“Yes, but first, you must show me Madame de Belleville’s place.”

“That’s easy; we get there by turning to the right.”

“And on the way, you will tell me what houses are to let here.”

“I say! is monsieur coming to live at Chelles, too?”

“Perhaps—for a short time.”

“Our village is getting to be mighty fashionable; we’ve got lots of fine folks from Paris. But I can’t think of any houses to let.”

“If I cannot get a house, I will be content with a room—at some farmer’s; I am not hard to suit, I simply want to be in the country air.”

“If monsieur ain’t hard to suit, we can find that, I guess. Pardi! a room—why I’ve got one myself I could let you have. I could sleep in my loft—it’s all one to me.”

“Well, Père Ledrux, we will look at your room; but show me first the house of these ‘fine folks,’ who give a party this evening.”

“In a minute, monsieur; we go this way.”

As Beauregard and the old peasant were starting, Monsieur Jarnouillard appeared at a bend in the road, shouting:

“Five sous more, Père Ledrux; come, I’ll give you thirty-five sous for your hen.”

“Not likely!” retorted the gardener with a shrug. “You wouldn’t take her for four francs just now! I’m glad you didn’t! it will teach you to haggle.”