The skirt slid to the ground, and in doing so a quantity of big sous fell out of the distended pocket. Sister-of-the-poor, motionless and in terror, watched them rolling about She stooped down and picked them up one by one, taking hold of them with the tips of her fingers. She piled them up on the old chest, without seeking to ascertain how many there were, for she could only count up to fifty, and she could see very well that there were several hundred of them. When she could find no more on the ground, she picked up her skirt, and understood by the weight that the pocket was again full. Then, for a good quarter of an hour, she pulled handfuls of sous out of it, thinking she would never reach the bottom. At last she could only feel one more. When she looked at it, she recognised it was the sou the beggar-woman had given her that same evening.
She then said to herself that the Almighty had just performed a miracle, and that this ugly-looking sou which she had disdained, was a sou such as the wealthy never had. She felt it vibrate between her fingers, ready to multiply again And she was all of a tremble lest it should take the fancy to fill the whole garret with wealth. Even now she knew not what to do with those piles of new money that were shining in the moonlight, and she gazed around her quite troubled Like a good workgirl she had always a needle and cotton in her apron pocket, and she looked about her for a piece of old sacking to make a bag. She made it so narrow that she could hardly get her little hand into it; material was wanting, and besides, Sister-of-the-poor was pressed for time. Then, having placed the poor woman’s sou right at the bottom, she began to slip the pieces covering the chest into the bag, pile by pile. As each lot fell, the bag became full, and was immediately empty again. The hundreds of big sous had plenty of room there, and it was easy to see that it could have held four times as many.
After that, Sister-of-the-poor, who was tired, hid the bag under the paillasse, and went to sleep. She laughed in her dreams, thinking of all the alms she would be able to distribute the next day.
III
When Sister-of-the-poor awoke the following morning, she fancied she had been dreaming. It was necessary to touch her treasure to believe in its existence. It was a little heavier than on the previous evening, and this made the child understand that the wonderful sou had been at work again during the night.
She dressed herself hurriedly, and went downstairs with her wooden shoes in her hand so as not to make a noise. She had hidden the bag under her fichu and pressed it to her bosom. Guillaume and Guillaumette, who were fast asleep, did not hear her. She had to pass in front of their bed, and she almost fell down with fright at the thought that they were so close to her; then she began to run, threw the door wide open, and rushed off forgetting to close it again.
It was in winter, and one of the coldest mornings in December. Day was just breaking. The sky with its pale glimmers of dawn, seemed the same colour as the earth which was covered with snow. This general whiteness, which extended to the horizon, made all the surroundings look very calm. Sister-of-the-poor walked quickly along, following the path leading to the town. All she heard was the cracking of the snow under her wooden shoes. Although very much absorbed in thought, she chose the deepest ruts by way of amusement As she approached the town, she remembered she had forgotten in her hurry to pray to God. She knelt down at the roadside. There, alone, lost in the immense and sad serenity of slumbering nature, she pronounced her orison in that childish voice which is so sweet, that God cannot distinguish it from that of angels. She soon arose again, and feeling a chill, hurried on her way.
There was great poverty in the surrounding country, especially that year, the winter being a hard one, and bread so dear, that only well-to-do folk could purchase it. Poor people, those who lived on sunshine and pity, went abroad in the early morning to see if spring were not coming, bringing more bountiful charity along with it. They walked along the roads, or seated themselves on the boundary stones at the gates of the towns, beseeching the passersby to assist them; for it was so cold in their lofts, that they might just as well take up their lodging on the highway. And there were such numbers of them there, that one might have peopled a large village with them.
Sister-of-the-poor had opened the little bag. On entering the town, she saw a blind man coming towards her, led by a little girl who gazed sadly in her face, taking her for a sister in misfortune, she was so ill-clad.
“My father,” she said to the poor old man, “hold out your hands. Jesus has sent me to you.”
She spoke to the old man because the little girl’s fingers were too small, and could not have held more than a dozen big sous. And so, to fill the hands the blind man extended to her, she had to plunge into the sack seven times, they were so long and broad. Then, before passing on, she told the little one to help herself to a final handful of money.
She was in a hurry to get before the church, near the stone-benches where the poor assembled in the morning; God’s house sheltered them from the north winds; the sun, when it rose, cast its rays right on the porch. She had to stop again. At the corner of an alley, she found a young woman who had no doubt passed the night there, she was so chilled and shivering with cold; with closed eyes, her arms pressed against her breast, she seemed asleep, hoping for nothing but death. Sister-of-the-poor stood before her with her hand full of sous, not knowing how to bestow her charity upon her. She wept, thinking she had come too late.
“Good woman,” she said, and she touched her softly on the shoulder, “look, take this money. You must go and breakfast at the inn and have a sleep before a big fire.”
At that sweet voice, the good woman opened her eyes and held out her hands. She, perhaps, thought she was still sleeping, and dreaming that an angel had descended beside her.
Sister-of-the-poor hurried to the great square. There was a crowd there under the porch awaiting the first ray of sunshine. The beggars, seated at the feet of the saints, were shivering with cold and huddled against one another without speaking. They were slowly rolling their heads as the dying do. They crowded in the corners, so as not to lose any of the sun, when it made its appearance.
Sister-of-the-poor began on the right, throwing handfuls of sous into the felt hats and the aprons, and with such good heart that many of the pieces rolled on the pavement. The dear child did not count. The little sack performed wonders; it would not become empty, it swelled out so at each fresh handful the young girl took from it, that it overflowed like a vase which is too full. The poor people stood dumbfounded at this delightful windfall: they picked up the sous that fell, forgetting the sun that was rising, and repeating hurriedly: “God will give it you back.” The charity was so bountiful that some good old fellows fancied the stone saints were throwing them this fortune; and they even still believe so.
The child laughed at their delight. She went three times round, so as to give the same sum to each; then she stopped; not because the little bag was empty, but because she had much to do before evening. As she was about to go away, she perceived a crippled old man in a corner, who, being unable to advance, extended his hands towards her. Feeling sorry at not having seen him, she advanced and tilted up the bag so as to give him more. The sous began to run from this miserable-looking purse like water from a spring without stopping, and so abundantly that Sister-of-the-poor soon closed the opening with her fist, for the heap would have risen in a few minutes as high as the church. The poor old man would not have known what to do with so much wealth, and perhaps the rich would have come and robbed him.
IV
Then, when those on the grand square had their pockets full, she set out towards the country. The beggars, forgetting to comfort themselves, began to follow her; they gazed at her in astonishment and respect, borne along by an outburst of brotherly feeling. She, standing alone, looking round about her, advanced the first. The crowd came afterwards.
The child, dressed in a ragged printed calico gown, was indeed a sister to the poor people who formed her suite, sister by her rags and sister by tender pity. She found herself there in a family gathering, giving to her brothers, forgetting herself; she walked along gravely with all the strength of her little feet, happy to act the big girl; and this little fair thing of ten, followed by her escort of old men, was beaming with naïve