"There! that's for you brats; just a little taste to give you a relish for prigging; it's a thing you'll take to more kindly if it's made agreeable to you. And now, get off to bed. Come, look sharp, I've got a deal to say to mother. There—you shall have some supper brought up-stairs to you."
The delighted children clapped their hands with joy, and triumphantly waved the stolen handkerchiefs which had just been presented to them.
"What do you say now, you little stupids?" said Calabash to them; "will you ever go and be persuaded by Martial again? Did he ever give you beautiful silk handkerchiefs like those, I should be glad to know?"
François and Amandine looked at each other, then hung down their heads, and made no answer.
"Answer, can't you?" persisted Calabash, roughly. "I ask you whether you ever received such presents from Martial?"
"No," answered François, gazing with intense delight on his bright red silk handkerchief, "Brother Martial never gives us anything."
To which Amandine replied, in a low yet firm voice:
"Ah, François, that is because Martial has nothing to give anybody."
"He might have as much as other people if he chose to steal it, mightn't he, François?" said Nicholas, brutally.
"Yes, brother," replied François. Then, as if glad to quit the subject, he resumed his ecstatic contemplation of his handkerchief, saying: