第84章 BOOK Ⅵ(11)

'Here，'replied Mahiette.'One day there came to Reims some very outlandish sort of gentry—beggars and vagabonds—wandering about the country，led by their dukes and counts.Their faces were sun-burnt，their hair all curling，and they had silver rings in their ears.The women were even more ill-favoured than the men.Their faces were blacker and always uncovered，their only clothing an old woollen cloth tied over their shoulders，and a sorry rocket under that，and the hair hanging loose like a horse's tail.The children that scrambled about between their feet would have frightened the monkeys.An excommunicated band！They had come direct from Lower Egypt to Reims by way of Poland.The Pope had confessed them，so they said，and had laid on them the penance of wandering for seven years through the world without ever sleeping in a bed.So they called themselves penitents and stank most horribly.It would seem they had formerly been Saracens，and that is why they believed in Jupiter，and demanded ten livres tournois from all Arch-bishops，Bishops，and Abbots endowed with crosier and mitre.It was a bull of the Pope that got them that.They came to Reims to tell fortunes in the name of the King of Algiers，and the Emperor of Germany.As you may suppose，that was quite enough for them to be forbidden to enter the town.Then the whole band encamped without demur near the Braine gate，upon that mound where there's a wind-mill，close by the old chalk-pits.And of course all Reims was agog to see them.They looked in your hand，and prophesied most wonderful things—they were quite bold enough to have foretold to Judas that he would be Pope.At the same time，there were ugly stories about them—of stolen children，and cutpurses，and the eating of human flesh.The prudent warned the foolish，and said，'Go not near them！'and then went themselves by stealth.Everybody was carried away by it.In sober truth，they told you things to have amazed a Cardinal！The mothers made much of their children after the gipsy women had read in their hands all manner of miracles written in Pagan and in Turkish.One had an Emperor，another a Pope，a third a Captain.Poor Chantefleurie caught the fever of curiosity.She wanted to know what she had got，and whether her pretty little Agnès would not one day be Empress of Armenia or the like.So she carried her to the Egyptians，and the Egyptian women admired the child，fondled it，kissed it with their black mouths，and were lost in wonder over its little hands—alas！to the great joy of its mother.Above all，they were delighted with its pretty feet and pretty shoes.The child was not yet a year old，and was just beginning to prattle a word or two—laughed and crowed at her mother—was fat and round，and had a thousand little gestures of the angels in Paradise.The child was frightened at the black gipsy woman，and cried；but the mother only kissed her the more，and carried her away，overjoyed at the good fortune the prophetess had foretold to her Agnès.She would become a famous beauty—a wonder—a queen.So she returned to her garret in the Rue Folle-Peine，proud to bring back with her a queen.The next day she seized a moment when the child was asleep on her bed—for it always slept with her—left the door ajar，and ran to tell a neighbour in the Rue de la Séchesserie that the day would come when her daughter Agnès would be served at her table by the King of England and the Duke of Ethiopia，and a hundred other surprises.On her return，hearing no sound as she mounted her stair，she said，'Good，the child is still asleep.'She found the door more open than she had left it；she entered，and ran to the bed—poor mother！—the child was gone，the place empty.There was no trace left of the child，excepting one of its little shoes.She fled out of the room and down the stairs and began beating her head against the wall，crying：'My child！Who has my child？Who has taken my child from me？'The street was empty，the house stood by itself，no one could tell her anything.She hastened through the city，searching every street，running hither and thither the whole day，mad，distraught，terrible to behold，looking in at every door and every window like a wild beast robbed of its young.She was breathless，dishevelled，terrifying，with a flame in her eyes that dried her tears.She stopped the passers-by and cried，'My child！my child！my pretty little girl！To him who will restore my child to me I will be a servant，the servant of his dog—and he may eat my heart if he will！'She met Monsieur the Curé of Saint-Rémy，and to him she said：'Monsieur the Curé，I will dig the earth with my nails，but give me back my child！'Oudarde，it was heart-rending，and I saw a very hard man，M re Ponce Lacabre the attorney，shedding tears.Ah，the poor mother！At night she returned to her home.During her absence，a neighbour had seen two Egyptian women steal up her stair with a bundle in their arms，then come down again after closing the door，and hasten away.Afterward she had heard something that sounded like a child's cry from Paquette's room.The mother broke into mad laughter，sprang up the stair as if she had wings，burst open the door like an explosion of artillery，and entered the room.Horrible to relate，Oudarde，instead of her sweet little Agnès，so rosy and fresh，a gift from Heaven，a sort of hideous little monster，crippled，one-eyed，all awry，was crawling and whimpering on the floor.She covered her eyes in horror.