"Why, instead of stealing--which is very, very wrong, even if it's only cherries--you should just come and ask for some; and I would never refuse to give them to you! Especially if I haven't heard of your doing any more naughty things, like throwing stones at a cow to make her run through the fields at the risk of hurting people, especially poor little children who might not have time to get out of the way. Oh! it is so wicked to hurt those who are weak and can't defend themselves; only cowardly hearts do that."

"Oh! I fight with big boys, I do!"

"Don't fight at all; that will be much better."

Then she made a sign to Agathe, who understood her and brought a little basket filled with cherries. Honorine took out two handfuls and handed them to the little boy.

"Here," she said, "since you are so fond of cherries, take these."

The child stared at her in surprise, and said in a faltering voice:

"What! are you going to give me some?"

"Yes, I will give you these, on condition that you won't steal any more; do you promise?"

"Well! as long as you give 'em to me, I don't need to climb over the wall any more."

And the boy, putting his hands together, received the cherries which she gave him and hugged them to his breast. Then he looked all about and asked:

"Can I go now?"

"To be sure--you are free. Go; but don't be so naughty any more, and instead of making everybody hate you, make them love you, and you will see how much happier that will make you."

"And will everybody give me cherries?"

"I don't promise you that; but people will be kind to you when you are kind to them."

Little Emile said nothing more; but he made a pirouette and scampered away, shouting at Poucette as he pa.s.sed her:

"The lady's better 'n you!"

"Thanks!" said the young peasant; "if madame gives fruit to everybody who comes to steal it, they won't take the trouble to climb the wall!"

"Well! what would you have had me give the child?"

"It seems to me that he deserved a good licking instead of cherries!"

"He is said to be very naughty; but on the other hand everybody scolds him and treats him harshly."

"Sometimes they beat him, and hard too!"

"Well, I propose to try another method of reforming him."

"You are right," said Agathe; "_gentleness is better than violence_; I have read that somewhere in La Fontaine's fables."

A few days later, Edmond having gone to Paris, the two friends knew that he would not come to see them; and so, immediately after dinner, Agathe proposed to Honorine that they should go for a long walk.

"I don't want to go in the direction of the Tower," said Honorine; "it would seem as if we were trying to meet the owner again; and as that gentleman has not thought fit to call to inquire whether my fright had any serious consequences, I should be sorry to have him think that we cared to see him again."

There was a faint suggestion of irritation in Honorine's manner as she said this; but Agathe did not notice it.

"Mon Dieu! my dear," she rejoined, "as the man doesn't care for society, but avoids it, why should you expect him to come to see us? It doesn't seem to me that that is any reason why we should deprive ourselves of the pleasure of walking in the direction that is most agreeable to us.

For my part, I would like to go toward the Tower, and Noisy-le-Grand; for that is where that ravine is, with the cross erected on the spot where they found a young man dead. To tell the truth, I am very curious to see the place; it will make my flesh creep, but no matter; I am very desirous to see it; I have never forgotten that story that the doctor told us."

Honorine, whose resolution did not seem very firm, replied:

"Oh, well! if you want to see the ravine and the cross--after all, it isn't our fault that the gentleman's estate lies in that direction; and then it would be very strange if we should happen to meet him again."

"It isn't likely."

"At all events, if we do meet him, we will not speak to him--do you understand? we will simply bow to him, but we will not stop."

"But suppose he speaks to us?"

"Oh! in that case--but he won't speak to us, as he cares so little for society."

"Let us start; this time I trust that we shall not meet any cows to frighten us."

The two friends left the house. It was seven o'clock in the evening; the weather was fine, but the atmosphere was somewhat heavy and seemed to presage a storm. The young women did not allow themselves to be frightened by some dark clouds which appeared above the horizon. They strolled idly along the road to Gournay, stopping now and then to pluck flowers; and after pa.s.sing through the little village, Honorine said:

"We must not take the road we took the other time, which leads toward that gentleman's property. Let us take another road--this one, for instance."

"But suppose we lose our way?"

"We can always find it again by inquiring. Besides, Noisy-le-Grand is in this direction."

"But Noisy isn't where we want to go; we want to find the ravine where the cross is that was set up in memory of the young man who was murdered there."

"Well! that ravine, they say, is close by the road leading to Noisy."

"No, it's near the park belonging to the Tower, and this road takes us away from it."

"You don't know any more about it than I. However, we will ask."

The two friends walked along the road, which was unfamiliar to them; it was shaded in spots by fine walnut trees and venerable acacias.

After having walked for some time, Honorine stopped.

"How dark it is!" she said; "has the night come already?"

"No, it's the storm coming up! Oh! how black it is! What should we do if the storm should surprise us here? I don't see any house where we could go for shelter."

"We will stand under one of these magnificent walnuts."

"Oh, no! when it lightens, we mustn't stand under a walnut tree, it's one of the trees that attract lightning."

"What! are you afraid, Agathe, you who are always so brave?"

"A storm isn't very pleasant when you're in the midst of the fields! Oh!