Nobody's boy (Sans famille) — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Nobody's boy (Sans famille)
John Stuart Mill · en
Then, without another word, we went down the stairs, he still holding me
tightly by the hand. With what relief I followed him! I had escaped from
that tyrant! If I had dared I would have thrown my arms around Vitalis'
neck.
CHAPTER XVII
POOR VITALIS
While we were in the street Vitalis said not a word, but soon we came to
a narrow alley and he sat down on a mile-stone and passed his hand
several times across his forehead.
"It may be fine to listen to the voice of generosity," he said, as
though speaking to himself, "but now we're in the gutters of Paris,
without a sou; not a bite to eat.... Are you hungry?" he asked, looking
up at me.
"I haven't eaten anything since that little roll you gave me this
morning."
"Poor, poor child, and you'll have to go to bed to-night without supper.
And where are we going to sleep?"
"Did you count on sleeping at Garofoli's, then?"
"I counted upon you sleeping there, and as he would have given me twenty
francs for you for the winter, I could have managed for the time being.
But, seeing the way he treated those children, I could not give you to
him."
"Oh, you are so good!"
"Perhaps in this old, hardened vagabond there is still a bit of the
young man's heart left. This old vagabond calculated shrewdly, but the
young man still in him upset all.... Now, where to go?" he murmured.
It was already late and the cold had increased. It was going to be a
hard night. For a long time Vitalis sat on the stone. Capi and I stood
silently before, waiting until he had come to some decision. Finally he
rose.
"Where are we going?"
"To Gentilly, to try and find a race-course where I've slept sometimes.
Are you tired?"
"I rested at Garofoli's."
"The pity is that I haven't rested, and I can't do much more. But we
must get along. Forward! March! Children!"
This was his good humor signal for the dogs and myself when we were
about to start, but this night he said it sadly.
Here we were, wandering in the streets of Paris; the night was dark and
the gas jets, which flickered in the wind, lit the alleys but dimly. At
each step we slipped on the ice-covered pavement. Vitalis held me by the
hand, and Capi followed at our heels. From time to time, the poor dog
stopped behind to look amongst a heap of garbage to see if he could find
a bone or a crust, for he was oh, so hungry, but the garbage was covered
with frozen snow and he searched in vain. With drooping ears he trotted
on to catch up with us.
After the big streets, more alleys; after the alleys, more big streets;
we walked on, and on; the few pedestrians that we met stared at us in
astonishment. Was it our costumes? Was it the tired way we plodded along
which arrested their attention? The policemen that we passed turned
round and followed us with a glance.