Meeting at a Crossroads
The boy halted in his journey down the newly darkened
street.
"Hullo, what are you, then?" he called to the figure approaching the
crossroads.
The figure blinked, as if pulled out of a reverie. Indeed, until it was
interrupted, it had been humming a melancholy tune to itself.
"You're not supposed to be here," it replied in a low female voice.
"How am I meant to sing about being alone when there's someone else
there?"
"I'm not supposed to be here? I own these streets more than you do, mènesse
(insulting term for a woman). Besides, I have responsibilities. I'm on a mission
of great importance, sent by the French Revolution."
"Perhaps I'm a mènesse, but at least I don't m'encrasse(soil
myself), môme."
"Aha! So the cat can wield her words almost as well as me!" He opened
himself to throw another jibe to the girl, but she leaped in with an
urgently-toned question.
"You said that you're on an errand. What errand is this?"
"I'm carrying a top-secret missive from one of the heroes of the
Revolution to a lady," he replied loftily.
The girl felt her breath catch in her throat. Could this hero be He? Had he
sent another messenger because he hadn't trusted her? She drew a shaky breath.
"And where might this lady live?" she enquired cautiously.
The boy gave her a quizzical look. "She asks a lot of questions, his cat.
She wouldn't be a spy now, would she?"
This was denied hastily by the girl. "No, no. It's just that I'm on an
errand to a lady as well, and I wondered if it might be the same one."
The boy looked at her closely. "Well, what if I was to say that I go to
the Rue de l'Homme Armé?"
The girl gave a sigh of joy. "Then I would say that you're not as rude as
you seem, môme, for I go to the Rue Plumet." She added in a
wondering tone, "Then perhaps he does trust me!" Then she paused and
shook her head sadly. "He may trust me, but he does not love me. This
letter is proof of that."
As she went through these spoken thoughts, the boy watched her, puzzled.
"She's strange, this cat. Now she has the tongue of a mènesse, and
now that of a bourgeoise. Perhaps she's mad." He glanced down at the
letter in his hand, and then slapped his forehead as if only just remembering
his errand. "The letter!" he exclaimed. "I must hurry if I'm not
to miss the émeute! Farewell, strange cat!" he cried, dashing off down the
street.
His words seemed to awake a similar spark in the girl. "Yes, I must hurry,
for then I can be by his side once more!" And she continued down the other
street of the crossroads, humming the same sad song.
The boy had hardly passed three houses before he stopped short once more.
"Why, I know who that strange cat was! She's surely the daughter of my
dear maman and papa! The devil! But what's happened to her voice? It wasn't so
sweet last time I visited their cave. And I say she's been fed, for her bones
all hide! Perhaps it's time I paid my father a visit."
He stood there scratching his head for a moment, then a large stone and an
unbroken streetlamp caught his eye. "Hold on! There's another lamp that's
forgotten to go to sleep! Now, we can't have that, for how is Paris to sleep
with all the lights on like that?"
He chastised the offending streetlamp with a well-aimed throw and continued his
journey, also singing as he walked.
"L'oiseau medit dans les charmilles,
Et pretend qu'hier Atala
Avec un russe s'en alla
Où vont les belles filles,
Lon la..."