DOI article:
Harland, Henry: P'tit-Bleu
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27811#0076
72
P'tit-Bleu
possessed most interest for her listener—herself. She told me, as
it were, the story of her birth, parentage, life, and exploits. It
was the simplest story, the commonest story. Her mother (hz
her mother had died when
she was sixteen, and Jeanne (that was her baptismal name, Jeanne
Merois) had gone to work in the shop of a dressmaker, where,
sewing hard from eight in the morning till seven at night, with
an hour's intermission at noon, she could earn, in good seasons, as
much as two-francs-hfty a day. Two and a half francs a day—
say twelve shillings a week—in good seasons ; and one must eat,
and lodge, and clothe one's body, and pay one's laundress, in good
seasons and in bad. It scarcely satisfied her aspirations, and she
took to dancing. Now she danced three nights a week at Bullier's,
and during the day gave lessons in her art to a score of pupils, by
which means she contrived to keep the wolf at a respectful dis-
tance from her door. " Tiens, here's my card," she concluded,
and handed me an oblong bit of pasteboard, on which was printed,
" P'tit-Bleu, Professeur de Danse, 22, Rue Monsieur le Prince."
" Et tu n'as pas d'amoureux ? " questioned 1.
She flashed a look upon me that was quite inexpressibly arch,
and responded instantly, with the charmingest little pout, " But
yes—since I'm supping with him."
During the winter that followed, P'tit-Bleu and I supped
together rather frequently. She was a mere little animal, she had
no soul; but she was the nicest little animal, and she had instincts.
She was more than good-natured, she was kind-hearted ; and,
according to her unconventional standards, she was conscientious.
It would have amused and touched you, for example, if you had
been taking her about, to notice her intense solicitude lest you
should conduct her entertainment upon a scale too lavish, her
deprecating
P'tit-Bleu
possessed most interest for her listener—herself. She told me, as
it were, the story of her birth, parentage, life, and exploits. It
was the simplest story, the commonest story. Her mother (hz
her mother had died when
she was sixteen, and Jeanne (that was her baptismal name, Jeanne
Merois) had gone to work in the shop of a dressmaker, where,
sewing hard from eight in the morning till seven at night, with
an hour's intermission at noon, she could earn, in good seasons, as
much as two-francs-hfty a day. Two and a half francs a day—
say twelve shillings a week—in good seasons ; and one must eat,
and lodge, and clothe one's body, and pay one's laundress, in good
seasons and in bad. It scarcely satisfied her aspirations, and she
took to dancing. Now she danced three nights a week at Bullier's,
and during the day gave lessons in her art to a score of pupils, by
which means she contrived to keep the wolf at a respectful dis-
tance from her door. " Tiens, here's my card," she concluded,
and handed me an oblong bit of pasteboard, on which was printed,
" P'tit-Bleu, Professeur de Danse, 22, Rue Monsieur le Prince."
" Et tu n'as pas d'amoureux ? " questioned 1.
She flashed a look upon me that was quite inexpressibly arch,
and responded instantly, with the charmingest little pout, " But
yes—since I'm supping with him."
During the winter that followed, P'tit-Bleu and I supped
together rather frequently. She was a mere little animal, she had
no soul; but she was the nicest little animal, and she had instincts.
She was more than good-natured, she was kind-hearted ; and,
according to her unconventional standards, she was conscientious.
It would have amused and touched you, for example, if you had
been taking her about, to notice her intense solicitude lest you
should conduct her entertainment upon a scale too lavish, her
deprecating