"Give me this handkerchief, Amandine; and yours, too, François."
The little girl took off her head-dress, gave a last look at the large bow, which was not untied, and gave the handkerchief to Martial, repressing a sigh of regret. François drew his slowly out of his pocket, and then gave it to his brother, as his sister had done.
"To-morrow morning," he said, "I will return these handkerchiefs to Nicholas. You ought not to have taken them, children. To profit by a robbery is as if one robbed oneself."
"It is a pity those handkerchiefs were so pretty!" said François.
"When you have learned a trade, and earn money by your work, you will buy some as good. Go to bed, my dears,—it is very late."
"You are not angry, brother?" said Amandine, timidly.
"No, no, my love, it is not your fault. You live with ill-disposed persons, and you do as they do unconsciously. When you are with honest persons, you will do as they do; and you'll soon be with such, or the devil's in it. So now, good night!"
"Good night, brother!"
Martial kissed the children. They were now alone.
"What's the matter with you, François,—you seem very sorrowful!" said Amandine.