Finding A Real Mother

“Forward! March! Children!” cried Mattia after we had thanked the woman. “It is not only Arthur and Mrs. Milligan now that we are going after, but Lise. What luck! Who knows what’s in store for us!”

We went on our way in search of the Swan, only stopping just to sleep and to earn a few sous.

“From Switzerland one goes to Italy,” said Mattia softly. “If, while running after Mrs. Milligan, we get to Lucca, how happy my little Christina will be.”

Poor dear Mattia! He was helping me to seek those I loved and I had done nothing to help him see his little sister.

At Lyons we gained on the Swan. It was now only six weeks ahead of us. I doubted if we could catch up with it before it reached Switzerland. And then I did not know that the river Rhone was not navigable up to the Lake of Geneva. We had thought that Mrs. Milligan would go right to Switzerland on her boat. What was my surprise when arriving at the next town to see the Swan in the distance. We began to run along the banks of the river. What was the matter? Everything was closed up on the barge. There were no flowers on the veranda. What had happened to Arthur? We stopped, looking at each other both with the same sorrowful thoughts.

A man who had charge of the boat told us that the English lady had gone to Switzerland with a sick boy and a little dumb girl. They had gone in a carriage with a maid; the other servants had followed with the baggage. We breathed again.

“Where is the lady?” asked Mattia.

“She has taken a villa at Vevy, but I cannot say where; she is going to spend the summer there.”

We started for Vevy. Now they were not traveling away from us. They had stopped and we should be sure to find them at Vevy if we searched. We arrived there with three sous in our pockets and the soles off our boots. But Vevy is not a little village; it is a town, and as for asking for Mrs. Milligan, or even an English lady with a sick son and a dumb girl, we knew that that would be absurd. There are so many English in Vevy; the place is almost like an English pleasure resort. The best way, we thought, was to go to all the houses where they might be likely to live. That would not be difficult; we had only to play our music in every street. We tried everywhere, but yet we could see no signs of Mrs. Milligan.

We went from the lake to the mountains, from the mountains to the lake, looking to the right and to the left, questioning from time to time people who, from their expression, we thought would be disposed to listen and reply. Some one sent us to a chalet built way up on the mountain; another assured us that she lived down by the lake. They were indeed English ladies who lived up in the chalet on the mountain and the villa down by the lake; but not our Mrs. Milligan.

One afternoon we were playing in the middle of the road. The house before us had a large iron gate; the house behind stood way back in a garden. In the front of it there was a stone wall. I was singing my loudest. I sung the first verse of my Neapolitan song and was about to commence the second when we heard a weak strange voice singing. Who could it be? What a strange voice!

“Arthur?” inquired Mattia.

“No, no, it is not Arthur. I have never heard that voice before.”

But Capi commenced to whine and gave every sign of intense joy while jumping against the wall.

“Who is singing?” I cried, unable to contain myself.

“Remi!” called a weak voice.

My name instead of an answer! Mattia and I looked at one another, thunderstruck. As we stood looking stupidly into each other’s faces, I saw a handkerchief being waved at the end of the wall. We ran to the spot. It was not until we got to the hedge which surrounded the other side of the garden that we saw the one who was waving.

Lise! At last we had found her and not far away were Mrs. Milligan and Arthur!

But who had sung? That was the question that Mattia and I asked as soon as we found words.

“I,” answered Lise.

Lise was singing! Lise was talking!

The doctors had said that one day Lise would recover her speech, and very probably, under the shock of a violent emotion, but I did not think that it could be possible. And yet the miracle had happened, and it was upon knowing that I had come to her and hearing me sing the Neapolitan song I used to sing to her, that she had felt this intense emotion, and was restored to her voice. I was so overcome at this thought that I had to stretch out my hand to steady myself.

“Where is Mrs. Milligan?” I asked, “and Arthur?”

Lise moved her lips, but she could only utter inarticulate sounds, then impatiently she used the language of her hands, for her tongue was still clumsy in forming words. She pointed down the garden and we saw Arthur lying in an invalid’s chair. 

On one side of him was his mother, and on the other … Mr. James Milligan. In fear, in fact almost terror, I stooped down behind the hedge. Lise must have wondered why I did so. Then I made a sign to her to go.

“Go, Lise, or you’ll betray me,” I said. “Come to-morrow here at nine o’clock and be alone, then I can talk to you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then went up the garden.

“We ought not to wait till to-morrow to speak to Mrs. Milligan,” said Mattia. “In the meantime that uncle might kill Arthur. He has never seen me and I’m going to see Mrs. Milligan at once and tell her.”

There was some reason in what Mattia proposed, so I let him go off, telling him that I would wait for him at a short distance under a big chestnut tree. I waited a long time for Mattia. More than a dozen times I wondered if I had not made a mistake in letting him go. At last I saw him coming back, accompanied by Mrs. Milligan. I ran to her, and, seizing the hand that she held out to me, I bent over it. But she put her arms round me and, stooping down, kissed me tenderly on the forehead.

“Poor, dear child,” she murmured.

With her beautiful white fingers she pushed the hair back from my forehead and looked at me for a long time.

“Yes, yes,” she whispered softly.

I was too happy to say a word.

“Mattia and I have had a long talk,” she said, “but I want you to tell me yourself how you came to enter the Driscoll family.”

I told her what she asked and she only interrupted me to tell me to be exact on certain points. Never had I been listened to with such attention. Her eyes did not leave mine.

When I had finished she was silent for some time, still looking at me. At last she said: “This is a very serious matter and we must act prudently. But from this moment you must consider yourself as the friend,” she hesitated a little, “as the brother of Arthur. In two hours’ time go to the Hotel des Alpes; for the time being you will stay there. I will send some one to the hotel to meet you. I am obliged to leave you now.”

Again she kissed me and after having shaken hands with Mattia she walked away quickly.

“What did you tell Mrs. Milligan?” I demanded of Mattia.

“All that I have said to you and a lot more things,” he replied. “Ah, she is a kind lady, a beautiful lady!”

“Did you see Arthur?”

“Only from a distance, but near enough to see that he looked a nice sort of boy.”

I continued to question Mattia, but he answered me vaguely.

Although we were in our ragged street suits, we were received at the hotel by a servant in a black suit and a white tie. He took us to our apartment. How beautiful we thought our bedroom. There were two white beds side by side. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking the lake. The servant asked us what we would like for dinner, which he would serve us on the balcony if we wished.

“Have you any tarts?” asked Mattia.

“Yes, rhubarb tarts, strawberry tarts, and gooseberry tarts.”

“Good. Then you can serve these tarts.”

“All three?”

“Certainly.”

“And what entrée? What meat? Vegetables?”

At each offer Mattia opened his eyes, but he would not allow himself to be disconcerted.

“Anything, just what you like,” he replied coolly.

The butler left the room gravely.

The next day Mrs. Milligan came to see us; she was accompanied by a tailor and a shirt maker who took our measures for some suits and shirts. Mrs. Milligan told us that Lise was still trying to talk and that the doctor had declared that she would soon be cured, then after having spent an hour with us she left us, again kissing me tenderly and shaking hands warmly with Mattia.

For four days she came, each time she was more affectionate and loving to me, yet still with a certain restraint. The fifth day the maid, whom I had known on the Swan, came in her place. She told us that Mrs. Milligan was expecting us and that a carriage was at the hotel doors to take us to her. Mattia took his seat in the brougham as though he had been used to riding in a carriage all his life. Capi also jumped in without any embarrassment and sat down on the velvet cushions.

The drive was short, it seemed to me very short, for I was like one in a dream, my head filled with foolish ideas, or at least what I thought might be foolish. We were shown into a drawing-room. Mrs. Milligan, Arthur, and Lise were there. Arthur held out his arms. I rushed over to him, then I kissed Lise. Mrs. Milligan kissed me.

At last,” she said, “the day has come when you can take the place that belongs to you.”

I looked to her to ask her to explain. She went over to a door and opened it. Then came the grand surprise! Mother Barberin entered. In her arms she carried some baby’s clothes, a white cashmere pelisse, a lace bonnet, some woolen shoes. She had only time to put these things on the table before I was hugging her. While I fondled her, Mrs. Milligan gave an order to the servant. I heard only the name of Milligan, but I looked up quickly. I know that I turned pale.

“You have nothing to fear,” said Mrs. Milligan gently; “come over here and place your hand in mine.”

James Milligan came into the room, smiling and showing his white pointed teeth. When he saw me, the smile turned to a horrible grimace. Mrs. Milligan did not give him time to speak.

“I asked for you to come here,” she said, her voice shaking, “to introduce you to my eldest son, whom I have at last found”; she pressed my hand. “But you have met him already; you saw him at the home of the man who stole him, when you went there to inquire after his health.”

“What does this mean?” demanded Milligan.

“That the man who is serving a sentence for robbing a church has made a full confession. He has stated how he stole my baby and took it to Paris and left it there. Here are the clothes that my child wore. It was this good woman who brought up my son. Do you wish to read this confession. Do you wish to examine these clothes?”

James Milligan looked at us as though he would liked to have strangled us, then he turned on his heels. At the threshold he turned round and said: “We’ll see what the courts will think of this boy’s story.”

My mother, I may call her so now, replied quietly: “You may take the matter to the courts; I have not done so because you are my husband’s brother.”

The door closed. Then, for the first time in my life, I kissed my mother as she kissed me.

“Will you tell your mother that I kept the secret?” said Mattia, coming up to us.

“You knew all, then?”

“I told Mattia not to speak of all this to you,” said my mother, “for though I did believe that you were my son, I had to have certain proofs, and get Madame Barberin here with the clothes. How unhappy we should have been if, after all, we had made a mistake. We have these proofs and we shall never be parted again. You will live with your mother and brother?” Then, pointing to Mattia and Lise, “and,” she added, “with those whom you loved when you were poor.”