The Five-Franc Piece

Catalina recovered slowly and seemed to constantly desire Paula’s company. In the afternoon, on returning from school, I would find her by the bedside, always happy, always smiling, with the complete forgetfulness of self that had always been such a wonder to me.

A new gentleness seemed to come over my father as the days passed, and I noticed that he always seemed to observe Paula with a sort of puzzled air.

Paula, too, seemed to change. That little Alpine flower, accustomed to the pure mountain air of her beloved country, naturally could not be transplanted from her native soil without some damage, and besides, that sensitive conscience of hers always seemed to be in a struggle between obedience to her God and her duty towards my father.

“That girl is nothing more or less than stubborn,” I heard my father say one day to Teresa; which remark our old servant answered with a grimace behind his back.

One day, Teresa with an air of triumph, showed us a New Testament on her return from town. Paula took it from her hand for a moment, and then returned it to our old servant after caressing the shining cover with great tenderness.

“Take it,” said Teresa, “it’s not only mine, but yours, and you will have more time to read it than I will.”

“No, Teresa dear,” and Paula sighed as she put her hands behind her back. “I know I’ll get my Bible some day. That’s what I’ve asked God for, and I know He answers prayer.”

A little later, Paula said to me, “I certainly would have loved that New Testament, for there are two or three favorite passages with which I would like to refresh my memory, but I simply can’t deceive my uncle. But what am I going to do, Lisita? I must never forget what I promised papa when he died.” Never forget, never forget! was Paula’s constant preoccupation.

But in spite of these problems which seemed to confront her, her perfect faith in God came to her aid, and seemed to give her wisdom to take the right road through it all. At times I would surprise her on her knees with her eyes closed and a certain strange, indefinable light on her tear-stained face. Immediately however as she sensed my presence, she would spring to her feet and I found the same natural, happy creature that I delighted to call my companion. It was not in vain that she prayed! Her God, whom she had not ceased to serve in the midst of the worldly atmosphere that surrounded her, seemed to come to comfort and strengthen her.

Away off here in Villar, the little orphan was not forgotten. One day, to her great excitement, Paula received a letter, directed personally to her, from someone from her own beloved land.

“What beautiful writing!” exclaimed Rosa. “Who could it be from?”

“I think it must be from my godmother,” responded Paula, trembling with emotion. “Oh, do give me the letter, Rosa.”

Rosa, always full of fun, pretended to keep the letter, to the dismay of our small cousin, who didn’t always see through our jokes, but finally yielded to her entreaties.

“Wouldn’t you like to read it to us, Rosa?” asked Paula, tearing open the envelope. “I find it much harder to read writing than printing.”

Rosa was only too glad to learn the secrets contained in such an unusual communication. And so this is what we heard as she read:

My dear goddaughter:

I cannot tell you how dismayed I was on my return from Geneva to learn of the death of thy father. I know he is at peace in heaven, happy at the side of the Lord he so dearly loved. But it is for thee that my heart was torn with anguish. Canst thou imagine the pain that filled it when I found on my return to Villar, that both of you had gone from me?

The pastor in the village told me that thou hadst gone to your uncle’s house in Normandy, and that thou wert well-cared for. But oh, how I would have wished to have kept thee with me. But thou knowest, that for me, that would have been impossible, having to care for my old father and mother, as well as pay off their debts. I know, however, with the help of God, some day I shall be free. Then we shall return to buy the little farm where my father made us such a happy home, and at that time I trust that thou wilt come back and live with me—but then, I suppose thou wilt have become a great lady, and wilt not be content to come back to such a simple life with an obscure country woman (although I really don’t believe that).”

“Oh, no, no, no!” suddenly interrupted Paula. “Godmother knows very well that I shall never forget the happy life in Villar.”

“Then, you will go back there?” inquired Rosa.

“Of course. Why not?” and Paula looked quite surprised.

“What’s that you say? You would leave all of us who love you so?”

“Oh, no indeed, you shall all come with me,” responded Paula, who generally had a way of solving every difficulty.

Rosa smiled and returned to her reading.

I have just been to see the grave of thy dear father, where I planted some hardy white roses which will stand the winter winds. I went also to the neighboring village of Endroit where thou usedst to visit the poor, and immediately I was surrounded by thy friends. Papa Pierre Vigne especially sends his love. They all spoke of thee and called down blessings on thy head, especially that thou mightst be a witness for the Lord in thy new home. Mama Vigne recalled the time when thou visitedst her when she was so sick, and how happy thou madest her when thou didst sing those beautiful hymns to her. I believe, my dear one, that if thou shouldst write her a few lines, it would be like letting in a little heaven on her simple life, as she would thus see that the daughter of their best friend is thinking still of those whom she used to make happy by her heavenly presence.

All those that have known thee and know that I am writing send kisses and loving remembrances. Many persons have asked that thou shouldst pray for them. They love thee so and miss thy presence, my dear, dear goddaughter!

Continue, Paula, always to be obedient. Love everybody, and above all else, the God of thy father who awaits thee in heaven. Love not the world nor the things that are in the world. Be thou a valiant soldier, faithful unto death, and Christ shall give thee the crown of life, for He will never forget thee, and neither do we in this far-off valley, nor thy good deeds which thou hast done amongst us.

And now, may God bless thee and keep thee safe in His hands….

Thy loving godmother, Evangelina, who prays for thee.

Paula, overcome by emotion, buried her face on Rosa’s shoulder.

“Wait a minute,” said Rosa, “don’t cry. Here is something more.”

Paula dried her eyes and listened intently as Rosa continued, “P. S. I am sending thee five francs by money order which you can redeem at your post office. Buy something with it by which to remember me.”

“Five francs!” repeated Paula, with astonishment now instead of tears on her face, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. See. Here is the money order.”

Paula, who never in her life had owned a single cent, could hardly believe that she was the possessor of so much riches!

Her godmother’s letter was, of course, a tremendous event for all of us. Rosa had to read it over and over many times, and it seemed as if Paula wished to learn it by heart. Even my father read it with great attention and appeared quite pleased. Teresa declared that “The godmother was surely a ‘très comme il faut,’ ” but she did not explain to us why.

One thing however displeased Teresa—the eagerness with which Paula immediately planned to spend all her money.

“How now!” she exclaimed, “Is it burning a hole in your pocket? I should think a little girl like you would prefer to keep the money.”

“Keep it?” said Paula. “Why should I keep it?”

But the next day, when Teresa announced that she was going to the city, she invited us both to come along. “What are you going to buy?” she asked Paula.

“Oh, so many things. You shall see!”

And the “things” which we “saw” were certainly a great surprise to us. First we went to the bookshop where a number of souvenir cards were purchased to send back to Villar. From there, on passing a window filled with fruit, Paula exclaimed, “Oh, my, Catalina certainly does love grapes. I must get her some.”

“Grapes!” said Teresa. “Look at the price, you silly child.”

“Never mind. I’m rich this afternoon.”

“Well, you won’t be rich long, if you make many purchases like that!”

But Paula would not be satisfied until a great bunch of the luscious fruit was safely stowed away in Teresa’s bag, destined for Catalina. Having arrived in front of a stationer’s shop, two pencils went into the bag, one for Rosa and the other for Louis.

“And aren’t you going to get anything for yourself?” said Teresa, with a quizzical grin.

“Oh, you shall see,” laughed Paula. “Besides, you know, Teresa, I’ve got everything I need, and a good deal more.”

But now a present for my father was the next object for discussion. “Men don’t need presents,” said Teresa impatiently.

But Paula did not agree with her. “I know,” she cried at last, “I remember what he said yesterday that his coffee cup was too small. Let’s get him a big one.” So off to the china shop we went, where a huge blue cup decorated with flowers of extraordinary size depleted Paula’s treasure by a whole franc. I began to ask myself whether I was going to have any part in Paula’s generosity. But on passing a certain bazaar where a myriad of things were sold, I saw Paula make signs that Teresa seemed to understand. Contrary to her custom Teresa entered alone, telling us to walk on a bit and she would join us soon.

“And now,” said Paula, “we must buy an apron for Teresa, while she’s not looking. Where shall we go?”

“I think it would be better to let her choose one, and anyway, Teresa will soon be out of the bazaar and will be looking for us.”

“Oh, my, no! This has got to be a surprise!”

“Yes, I know. But how are we going to work it?”

A moment later, however, Paula discovered a way, a bit risky perhaps, but the circumstances seemed to justify the means.

Teresa, suspecting that Paula’s generosity would extend to her, and wishing to avoid that, watched us both carefully. But when all the purchases appeared to be completed, the good woman occupied herself with buying provisions for the house, which of course entailed considerable discussion as to price, etc. It was then that Paula had her chance.

“Now’s our time,” she said to me in a low voice.

I followed her without delay. Teresa, meanwhile, argued the price of butter and cheese with an old school-friend, now elevated to proprietorship of the shop, and we knew that this would take at least a quarter of an hour. We soon arrived at a place where they sold novelties, and where the clerks were about ready to close for the night.

“Oh, sir,” cried Paula, to one of the young men, “will you not please attend to me? I’m in a great hurry.”

“So, you’re in a hurry,” said the young man jovially.

“Yes, you see, we’ve run away and we’ve—”

“Wait a minute,” said the young man, and he appeared to grow suddenly grave. “This is quite serious. Who have you run away from?”

“Oh, it’s only Teresa across the street, and this must be a surprise for her. Will you please show me an apron?”

So the young man, without further ado, hauled down a number of those articles for inspection. “There you are. Take your pick.”

Paula gave one look, “Oh, no; not that kind,” she said with a consternation which I shared, seeing in imagination old Teresa, with her great wooden shoes and her long skirts, adorned with one of these elegant articles of the latest fashion.

“No? Don’t you like these?” questioned the clerk.

“Oh, no,” said Paula. “You see, it’s for Teresa.”

“And, pray, who is Teresa?”

Paula started to explain, when the anxious face of the old servant showed itself at the door of the shop across the way, and not seeing us, had started to look up and down the street “Here she comes,” I said. “Oh, Paula, what shall we do?”

“Go in behind the counter, there,” said Paula who never lost her head.

I got in behind a pile of merchandise while Paula continued to explain her wants to the clerk from the dark corner of the shop. The youug man appeared to comprehend our situation.

“Bertrand,” and he turned to one of his fellow clerks, “please attend to this young girl. I’ll be back in a minute.”

But Bertrand hardly had time to ask us what we wanted, when our first friend returned, bringing with him a package under his arm.

“I had a look at your Teresa,” he said, “and I think that an apron of this excellent cloth will give her a thousand thrills. See, what beautiful stuff it is.”

Paula gave a nervous look toward the window before answering.

“No, she’s not there,” said the young man, divining her thoughts. “Not finding you here, she’s gone on a bit, but you can find her easily enough.”

We were enchanted with the goods which he displayed, and we were soon served, at not too great a cost.

“You have been very good to us, sir,” said Paula, starting to go out. “We have given you so much trouble, but when we wish to buy anything more, we shall always come here, will we not, Lisita? In the meantime, many thanks,” and she extended her hand to him with surprising self-possession.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said the young man, and I could see that he’d never met her like before.

Teresa was not far away, gazing into a jeweler’s window. “At last, you’re here,” she said amiably. “Now, we must hurry, for it is very late.” She made no mention of our untoward absence, and one would have believed that she had not noticed it, and that relieved us very much.

“You certainly are late,” said my father to Teresa on our return.

“I thought we’d never get through,” said the good woman. “For you see, Paula had to spend—”

“Oh, yes, I understand. She had to get rid of her five francs.

“And now, Paula, show me what you have bought.”

“All right. Here you are, uncle!”

Paula had always shown a certain timidity toward my father, and appeared to be slightly afraid of him. Slightly red in the face, she took out the packages one after the other from Teresa’s bag.

“You shall see, sir. You shall see,” commented Teresa, with a shake of her head.

“What a lot of packages!” said Rosa, on seeing all the bundles tied up with such care.

“Shall I help you open them?” said my father. “Let us see what’s in this first package. My, my, what’s this? White grapes! And of the finest kind! You certainly have got good taste. I’ll say that much, Paula!”

“They are for Catalina, uncle.”

“For Catalina?”

“Yes, uncle dear.”

Now there was not a sign of derision in my father’s voice. It had changed to a surprising tenderness as he said, “So you bought this for our Catalina? I know the cost of such fruit, and Teresa should not have consented.”

“And do you think, sir,” broke in Teresa, “that when Paula wants to buy something, that she asks for my consent? You will soon be able to judge that for yourself. I never saw her equal.”

“And this?” questioned Rosa, taking up the package of souvenir cards.

Paula indicated the destination of each one as she gave the name and address of many of her old neighbors in far-away Villar.

“So you don’t forget your old friends,” observed my father.

“Oh, what a beautiful box this is,” continued Rosa, “and, oh, look here,” as she displayed the thimble inside. “Who can this be for?”

“Oh, that’s for Lisita.”

“For me?” I cried, jubilantly. “Oh, Paula! So you remembered that I have just lost my thimble.”

“Two pencils,” announced my father, undoing another small paper package.

“One of them is for Rosa and the other is for Louis,” said Paula simply.

“My poor dear child,” exclaimed Rosa. “What on earth are we going to do with you! Here’s another package, but it appears so fragile that you’d better open it yourself.”

“No, no; that’s for uncle. Let him open it.”

My father cut the cord that held the package. Paula hardly dared to raise her eyes, as he took the beautiful cup with its blue and gold ornamentation and took it over to the fading light, in order to examine it more carefully.

“I don’t know whether I should be angry or content,” he said, with a dry smile.

“Better be content, uncle,” said Paula appealingly.

“Well, so be it,” he said. “At any rate, I am happy to have such a good and generous niece, who does love her uncle a bit. Is it not so, Paula?”

“There’s one more thing,” I cried. I wanted to see the effect on Teresa of that final package, which Paula handed over immediately to the old servant, saying gently, “It’s for you, Teresa dear.”

“What’s this? How is it for me? When I strictly forbade you? But there you are! What can one do with such a girl?”

The apron was found to be eminently satisfactory, and Teresa promised to put it on the first thing in the morning, and I could see a few tears in her eyes as she said so.

“And now,” said my father, “you’ve shown us all these things which you have bought us with your five francs. Where is the present for yourself?”

Paula looked at us all with dismay.

“I declare,” she said, “I forgot! Never mind, I can buy something tomorrow.” And she held up a few small coins which was all that remained of her five-franc piece.

My father looked at her searchingly, with that new tenderness which I had seen frequently lately, and then left the room without another word.

“I believe,” said Rosa, “that she’d be happy to give us her last piece of bread if there was occasion for it.”

“Yes, and her life also, if that was necessary,” said Teresa in a shaky voice, as she turned back to her duties in the kitchen.