he THE REDEMPTION OF MADAME FRADEAU. BY KENNETH MACNICHOL. IT is true, said René Guizet habits which, being broken, smilingly, that there is no disturb one; is it not so ? logical reason why I should I hasten to add, messieurs, continue to inhabit but two lest you misunderstand me, small rooms in the rue du that I missed the old woman Maistre. So I told Monsieur, just as one may uneasily note our Editor of 'Le Grand Ba- the absence of any familiar vard,' when he recently sug- object which disappears from gested, not without tact, that its place overnight. There was, here was a questionable ad- alors, the unchanged approach dress for a Director of our to the Pont de Clichy, but all dignified Company. I pointed simply the old seller of apples, out, however, that one may who had seemed to be rooted dispense with personal visiting- as permanently as the stones cards. I shall not change my of the street, was no longer address. When I came to there. Paris from my native Provence I was much too poor to afford an abode more expensive. I have found my chambers not too uncomfortable. One gets the air, for there is an hospital and a cemetery on the other side of our street. I am well used to the habits of our concierge, and she is indulgent regarding my own vagaries. Above all, in Montmartre one has amusing neighbours. One admits with readiness that she had never been an attractive decoration. Aged, gnarled, withered, and bent, she crouched over her basket of apples like some ancient witch guarding her poison brew. Only three members seemed to have life in her-black eyes, that peered greedily into the faces of passing pedestrians; crooked hands, unbelievably hungry in grasping her sous; a tongue quick as a rapier, poisonous as the tail of a scorpion, deadly as the fangs of an adder when she was enraged. Her arrows of repartee were all tipped with the slang of the gutter. On occasion she could deliver a very effective oration, using scarcely a word that should be understood by a jeune fille perfecting her grammar in La Poupée descended. She crossed the street with great dramatic effect. She paused before the station of La Goulue. "Ma mère ! she cried in that beautiful deep voice so well known to patrons of the Comédie. She extended sable French. This was a gift that édie, after which, one is cer won the admiration of the tain, nothing more need be voyous of the quarter, who lost said. no opportunity to stir up the old woman in order that her talent might be displayed. One believes that most of her meagre earnings were disbursed nightly at some low estaminet. The remark is made without censure; otherwise Mère Fradeau could not have endured such an irksome life. For the rest, only by accident might one discover that her name was Madame Fradeau. She was known as La Goulue to the quarter-a name that sufficiently indicates the failing of greed, which was one of her more amiable characteristics. She was a person whom one would miss, as you can see. The whole tale of her translation has now become a tradition of the quarter, so that my own curiosity was not long unrelieved. At eleven o'clock, then, of a particularly lucky Thursday, there arrived before the Café des Chausseurs a magnificent automobile, complete with every exquisite appointment that commercial instinct could devise. There was also a chauffeur in livery, a small hairy dog on a cushion, and a ravishing creature, the mistress of the dog, almost lost in the deep upholstery. Messieurs, I have heard several women try to describe the toilette of that other without success. I tell you quite simply that the chauffeur, the car, and the dog appertained to famous Michette Poupée of the Com clad arms in an embracing gesture. The old woman glanced up from beneath shaggy eyebrows. Que fous-tu là?" Mère Fradeau growled suspiciously, a question certainly more pointed than polite. Oh, do you not know me!" wailed the beautiful Poupée. After all these years, when I have found you again! Let your heart speak to you "Je me fiche de ce flanche!" La Goulue returned ungraci ously. "What is this game, ma gosse? Forget the patter. Tell me, who may you be!" "But I am your daughter!" cried our Poupée tenderly. "Possible, perhaps," admitted La Goulue. "Your dear daughter-your own little Michette!" Then you have come to no good," declared Mère Fradeau with decision. "And now I have found you "Fermes ta boite, gnognotte! Fiches-moi la paix! If the duchess wants apples, they are two for six sous." Yes, mes amis, an astonishing story. An amusing story only because it was true. The de zlightful Poupée presently proved beyond doubt that she was, very curiously, the child of La Goulue, a folly of youth, conveniently forgotten with the passage of years. Nor was this the most astonishing thing. La Poupée, ignoring completely how her mother had neglected the most primitive duty of maternal relationship, proposed no less than this: that the old woman should now share all her prosperity. There was a beautiful residence overlooking the Bois, a staff of dignified and comcompetent servants, two cars and their attendant chauffeurs-in fact, all that could be provided by the limitless purses of obliging friends who shone in the reflected glory of La Poupée. Everything that could add to that glory, or vagrant desire fancy, she owned, and all of this was offered to the old woman without reserve. It is not so astonishing that the offer was not attractive. Haroun al Raschid is dead. The Nights of Arabia are not those of this Paris. La Goulue arrived at this simple conclusion. Here was a game, something not understandable; therefore something to be avoided, like the police. word of dismissal seemed to be her final comment to pleading Poupée. Michette was persistent. 66 But think, ma mère! All the long day you shall have nothing to do. There are those who will bring everything to you. You shall dress in fine clothes. You shall have food, oh, là! such food as a king might envy ! La Poupée pursed her red lips charmingly, tasting that food in pleasant retrospection, for there had been a time when she had lacked for crusts. 'You shall never be cold. You shall sleep beneath a coverlet of fine silk. Each morning one bathes in scented water, deliciously "Assez !" growled Mère Fradeau. Espèce de grognasse! Am I so dirty? Tu m'embêtes ! As it is, I have nothing to do all day. None of my neighbours have any better clothes. I eat well when I will. I sleep soundly, nor am I one who breath of fresh air. you for nothing. then, go!" hates a Thank Will you, Much of this, as will be suspected, was mere boasting. The truth is this: Mère Fradeau could not imagine the pleasures Elle veut me tirer une ca- thus presented to her. She rotte," thought Madame Fra- could see no adequate reason deau. Her language, even in why any one, least of all a thought, as may be observed, daughter flung indifferently into was not academic French. the streets, should betray this Nevertheless, such argot is sudden interest in La Goulue. vastly expressive. Allez! She was horrified at the idea Pas de chahut! And this of immersing herself in water brief exposition of doubt and up to the chin, and if the other "Voilà. We depart." With an abominably insulting gesture she indicated the gathered crowd, where each separate mouth stood agape with astonishment. Rubbish! Filez la place! My daughter and I desire to go to our car." Without one backward glance the old woman climbed stiffly into the automobile. The little hairy dog voiced a shrill yelp of protest as she sat down. La Poupée followed. In one minute more the automobile, turning widely, sped across the Pont de Clichy. Thus it was that La Goulue was transported from her accustomed place. It will be of no avail, mes amis, to ask what notion was playing about in the little blonde head of Poupée. One knows nothing about it. One may only guess, and thus conceive a dozen possible reasons, none of them adequate. Had she at last awakened to the undeniable fact that, in common with every one, she had a mother of sorts? Was she sincerely determined to share her easy prosperity with the woman who was chiefly respon sible for the gift of existence ? a: Perhaps, indeed, there was some little sin, some trifling mistake 2 for which she made restitution in this self-imposed penance. Nor does one forget that the petted darling of Paris is a business woman of undoubted ability. Those such as La Poupée live by the word of the Press. Her action may have been prompted by her press agent, whose influence was not less than that of a priest. Certainly we considered the story worth a full column on the front page of 'Le Grand Bavard.' Finally, when all is said, the matter remains obscure, but one must credit Michette Poupée with the best intentions. must have seemed a most embarrassing armour, she sat beside her daughter in a slowmoving automobile to make the circuit of the Bois, and this, one imagines, so often repeated, gave her little enjoyment. Messieurs, a woman is always a woman with only a certain difference in degree. La Goulue would endure all this with forced equanimity, which was far from indicating her real disposition. She had attained, by what stroke of bad luck, all the pains of position, and she submitted, not unwillingly, although respectability gripped her as in a tormenting vice. This, also, one must whispernot in all her life had the old woman ever gained more than five francs a day. For many years past much less supplied all her needs. However, no matter how small the sum of her earnings, there was always something for the estaminet. Wine warmed her old bones, blessed her with benevolent ardour, and was no curse to her because of the insufficient amount. Now she was possessed of wealth beyond all imaginings; of the finest vintages there was abundant supply; but mark how Fortune steals with one hand all that the other has given. Could the respectable mother of famous Michette Poupée become known as a haunter of low cafés? Delicate wines were as water to that parched throat. She missed her accustomed companions of Montmartre estaminets, often misunderstand her only because they understood her language, composed entirely of argot, too well. For a day or two she would eat greedily of all the fine food placed before her. But what good is food if one has no hunger; is it not so ? The baths would be a constant constant menace to her. Each morning, gowned in stiff silk, which the |