But as Jean Jacques walked away with his little book of philosophy in his
pocket, and the bird-cage in his hand, someone sobbed. M. Fille turned
and saw. It was Virginie Poucette. Fortunately for Virginie other women
did the same, not for the same reason, but out of a sympathy which was
part of the scene.
It had been the intention of some friends of Jean Jacques to give him a
cheer when he left, and even his sullen local creditors, now that the
worst had come, were disposed to give him a good send-off; but the
incident of the canary in its cage gave a turn to the feeling of the
crowd which could not be resisted. They were not a people who could cut
and dry their sentiments; they were all impulse and simplicity, with an
obvious cocksure shrewdness too, like that of Jean Jacques--of the old
Jean Jacques. He had been the epitome of all their faults and all their
virtues.
No one cheered. Only one person called, "Au 'voir, M'sieu' Jean Jacques!"
and no one followed him--a curious, assertive, feebly-brisk, shock-headed
figure in the brown velveteen jacket, which he had bought in Paris on his
Grand Tour.
"What a ridiculous little man!" said a woman from Chalfonte over the
water, who had been buying freely all day for her new "Manor," her
husband being a member of the provincial legislature.
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than two women faced her
threateningly.
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