I explained that from Paris to Va.r.s.es and from Va.r.s.es to Ussel we had collected this sum, sou by sou.

"But what were you doing in Va.r.s.es?" he asked.

Then I was forced to tell him that I had been in a mine accident.

"Which of you two is Remi?" he asked, in a softened voice.

"I am, sir," I replied.

"To prove that, you tell me how the catastrophe occurred. I read the whole account of it in the papers. You cannot deceive me. I can tell if you really are Remi. Now, be careful."

I could see that he was feeling very lenient towards us. I told him my experience in the mine, and when I had finished my story, I thought from his manner, which was almost affectionate, that he would give us our freedom at once, but instead he went out of the room, leaving me alone, a prey to my thoughts. After some time he returned with Mattia.

"I am going to have your story investigated at Ussel," he said. "If it is true, as I hope it is, you will be free to-morrow."

"And our cow?" asked Mattia anxiously.

"Will be given back to you."

"I didn't mean that," replied Mattia; "but who'll feed her, who'll milk her?"

"Don't worry, youngster," said the prosecutor.

Mattia smiled contentedly.

"Ah, then if they milk our cow," he asked, "may we have some milk for supper?"

"You certainly shall!"

As soon as we were alone I told Mattia the great news that had almost made me forget that we were locked up.

"Mother Barberin is alive, and Barberin has gone to Paris!" I said.

"Ah, then the Prince's cow will make a triumphal entry."

He commenced to dance and sing with joy. Carried away by his gayety, I caught him by the hands, and Capi, who until then had been lying in a corner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and took his place between us, standing up on his hind paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wild dance that the jailer rushed in to see what was the matter, probably afraid for his onions. He told us to stop, but he spoke very differently to what he had before. By that, I felt that we were not in a very serious plight. I had further proof of this when a moment later he came in carrying a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was not all. He brought a large piece of white bread and some cold veal, which he said the prosecutor had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad after all; dinner and lodging for nothing!

Early the next morning the prosecutor came in with our friend the veterinarian, who had wanted to come himself to see that we got our freedom. Before we left, the prosecutor handed us an official stamped paper.

"See, I'm giving you this," he said; "you are two silly boys to go tramping through the country without any papers. I have asked the mayor to make out this pa.s.sport for you. This is all you will need to protect you in the future. Good luck, boys."

He shook hands with us, and so did the veterinarian.

We had entered the village miserably, but we left in triumph. Leading our cow by the rope and walking with heads held high, we glanced over our shoulders at the villagers, who were standing on their doorsteps staring at us.

I did not want to tire our cow, but I was in a hurry to get to Chavanon that same day, so we set out briskly. By evening we had almost reached my old home. Mattia had never tasted pancakes, and I had promised him some as soon as we arrived. On the way I bought one pound of b.u.t.ter, two pounds of flour and a dozen eggs. We had now reached the spot where I had asked Vitalis to let me rest, so that I could look down on Mother Barberin's house, as I thought for the last time.

"Take the rope," I said to Mattia.

With a spring I was on the parapet. Nothing had been changed in our valley; it looked just the same; the smoke was even coming out of the chimney. As it came towards us it seemed to me I could smell oak leaves.

I jumped down from the parapet and hugged Mattia, Capi sprang up on me, and I squeezed them both tight.

"Come, let's get there as quickly as possible now," I cried.

"What a pity," sighed Mattia. "If this brute only loved music, what a triumphal entry we could make."

As we arrived at one of the turns in the road, we saw Mother Barberin come out of her cottage and go off in the direction of the village. What was to be done? We had intended to spring a surprise upon her. We should have to think of something else.

Knowing that the door was always on the latch, I decided to go straight into the house, after tying our cow up in the cowshed. We found the shed full of wood now, so we heaped it up in a corner, and put our cow in poor Rousette's place.

When we got into the house, I said to Mattia: "Now, I'll take this seat by the fire so that she'll find me here. When she opens the gate, you'll hear it creak; then you hide yourself with Capi."

I sat down in the very spot where I had always sat on a winter night. I crouched down, making myself look as small as possible, so as to look as near like Mother Barberin's little Remi as I could. From where I sat I could watch the gate. I looked round the kitchen. Nothing was changed, everything was in the same place; a pane of gla.s.s that I had broken still had the bit of paper pasted over it, black with smoke and age.

Suddenly I saw a white bonnet. The gate creaked.

"Hide yourself quickly," I said to Mattia.

I made myself smaller and smaller. The door opened and Mother Barberin came in. She stared at me.

"Who is there?" she asked.

I looked at her without answering; she stared back at me. Suddenly she began to tremble.

"Oh, Lord, is it my Remi!" she murmured.

I jumped up and caught her in my arms.

"Mamma!"

"My boy! my boy!" was all that she could say, as she laid her head on my shoulder.

Some minutes pa.s.sed before we had controlled our emotion. I wiped away her tears.

"Why, how you've grown, my boy," she cried, holding me at arms' length, "you're so big and so strong! Oh, my Remi!"

A stifled snort reminded me that Mattia was under the bed. I called him.

He crept out.

"This is Mattia," I said, "my brother."

"Oh, then you've found your parents?" she cried.

"No, he's my chum, but just like a brother. And this is Capi," I added, after she had greeted Mattia. "Come and salute your master's mother, Capitano."

Capi got on his hind paws and bowed gravely to Mother Barberin. She laughed heartily. Her tears had quite vanished. Mattia made me a sign to spring our surprise.

"Let's go and see how the garden looks," I said.