A Gentleman From France/Chapter 1
Old Jean Dubois was a dog-lover. What he did not know about dogs was not to be found in the dog dictionary, or any other reliable dog book. He talked dog by day, ate "hot dog" for lunch, and dreamed dog all night long.
His canine friends were always scurrying between his legs, or jumping upon him; so he smelled of dog as well.
It was very laughable to see him come out of Hotel Bellevue in Rue Galilee and start down the street. This was a signal to all the dogs in the neighborhood that their friend and master was afoot; so they would come scurrying from every side-street and alley, yelping and barking, and nearly wagging their tails off with delight.
Finally the canine concourse would get so large that old Jean would have to send home a few of his friends to keep from being arrested as a dog nuisance.
A still more laughable sight was to see some grand madame promenading along the street with her favorite dog on the leash. Suddenly the beloved canine would begin to strain frantically upon the cord, and no word from his mistress would soothe him. At last he would break away with frantic yelps and make for old Jean Dubois, the dog man, whom he had espied coming up some side-street.
Old Jean had been in the French army in his younger days, and his grandfather had been one of the Old Guard at Waterloo. So next to dogs, or perhaps even before them, but in a different way, he worshipped soldiers, and the memory of Napoleon, whom he liked to refer to as the "Little Corporal."
Many a heated argument old Jean had with his grandson, young Jean of the Alpine Chasseurs, as to the merits of the new French army and the men of Napoleon's day, with whom the elder Jean had fought.
Young Jean always concluded these arguments with the assertion that the Germans would never again thrash France as they had done in 1871, at which the old soldier would shake his head.
The defeat of the French under Louis Napoleon was a sore topic with the old soldier, and his grandson reminded him of it only when sorely pressed.
Old Jean was as proud of the Alpine Chasseurs as was his grandson.
He always took part in their discussions when Jean's companions came to the stable to smoke and talk. Indeed they were a fine-looking lot in their gay uniforms and with their soldierly manners. Young Jean himself was as tall as a Lombardy poplar and handsome as any French gallant, or at least that was what his doting grandfather thought as he feasted his eyes upon him.
At Hotel Bellevue in Rue Galilee, where he was hostler, old Jean was allowed but one dog, and that was Nanette, an Airedale terrier.
But in the eyes of old Jean, Nanette was a dozen dogs in one. She was descended from a famous English strain and had taken many blue ribbons in her day, but was now well past her prime, and for that reason had fallen into the possession of the little Frenchman.
She was a typical Airedale, with coarse, wiry coat, black above and tan beneath. She was tall and muscular, and could hold her own in any street scrimmage, no matter what the company. Her keen terrier eyes looked warily out from under shaggy brows, always appraising one critically. Her ears were cocked with a slight droop at the tip, as though continually listening; this combination with the hairy face, gave her a quizzical look. As old Jean said, she always weighed you in the balance before making friends.
One day in early spring, about six months before my story, Nanette ran away and made the acquaintance of Pierre Beaufort, a celebrated Airedale Champion at a neighboring hotel. This meeting had been one of many, and very familiar relations were soon established.
Old Jean knew nothing of all this, for he had been busy in the garden at the time, and absorbed by rumors of war. So his astonishment can well be imagined when he found Nanette one morning in a manger licking a newly born Airedale puppy.
There was but one in the litter, because of Nanette's age, but old Jean was delighted. He laughed and cried and hugged the old Airedale until she was the happiest dog in France.
Though there was but one pup, it made up in size and beauty for a larger number, and with the feeding and petting of old Jean and the extra milk from its dam, it grew like a weed and was soon the idol of the hotel.
The old soldier christened the newcomer Napoleon Bonaparte, and called him Nap for short, and often the "Little Corporal." So these were the names that he went by until Madame, the great actress, discovered him one day before Hotel Bellevue while she was passing in her limousine.
The Little Corporal was playing in the yard when the shining machine drew up before the hotel. His play was never a tame affair, for he played as though the destiny of France hung upon the vigor with which he shook up the paper bag that he had just discovered.
"Stop, Laporte," cried the great lady as she caught sight of the pup. "I must have that dog."
She whistled shrilly to him.
Instantly he ceased his play and sat up very alert on his stub tail, his head cocked on one side, his bright eyes looking warily at her from under his shaggy brows.
Then she whistled again, and he cocked one ear, and let the other droop that he might listen the harder. This gave him such a ludicrous expression that Madame laughed.
This was enough for Nap; that laugh of the actress, at which kings and queens had smiled, went straight to the heart of the Little Corporal, and with a series of frantic bounds he reached the panting car. He did not stop there, but bounded like a rubber ball through the open door and into the actress's lap, soiling her beautiful fur coat with his muddy paws.
But she did not care. She hugged him
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and snuggled his whiskered face close to hers, and vowed if there was money enough in France to buy him, he should be hers.
The chauffeur was then sent for Jean. The old man came bowing and smiling to the car. But when he heard what the actress wanted of him his face fell. If he had not been in the presence of a very great lady whom all France loved, he would have sworn at the idea of selling his dog. But instead, being a Frenchman, he wept.
"Madame," he said hoarsely, "lama soldier, and can a soldier of France sell Napoleon?"
It was a pertinent question, but Madame began counting out shining louis until old Jean's eyes bulged from his head.
He had a grandchild who was a cripple. He had dreamed for years of taking him to a great surgeon. Here was the way opening before him. Besides young Jean would need money if he went away to this war that every one said was coming.
He thought hard of little Adolph, and without even daring to look at the Little Corporal, nestled contentedly down in the lap of the actress, he silently stretched out his hand for the shining coins.
Not saying another word, and with tears streaming down his wrinkled face, he turned and walked into the stable, not daring to even look behind him lest one glance at the hairy face of Nap might cause him to repent. When he had disappeared, the actress spoke to the chauffeur and the car glided slowly out of the courtyard and down the street, on its way to her château on the Loire, which was to be the new home of the Little Corporal.
He had fallen into good hands. There was no doubt of that. No other woman in France loved dogs as did the actress. Her friends and servants would be good to him, because of the saying: "Love me, love my dog." But would the Little Corporal ever find another heart so true as old Jean's? Would he ever find another soldier to romp and play with him as young Jean did? It was doubtful, but life is strange. Even the life of a dog may be as wonderful as a fairy story; so we will follow the limousine and see for ourselves.