“But surely you love the flowers?” Fanchon chimed in.
At this Tutor Ink’s face became a deep cherry-colour, and he beat his hands about him, crying: “Stupid nonsense! Ridiculous nonsense! There are no decent flowers in this wood!”
“But don’t you see those dear little Lilies-of-the-valley peeping up at you with such bright loving eyes?” asked Fanchon.
“What! What!” the Tutor screamed. “Flowers!—eyes?—Ha! Ha!—Nice eyes!—Useless things!” And with that he stooped, and plucking up a handful of the lilies, roots and all, threw them into the thicket.
Fanchon could not help shedding bitter tears, and Frederic gnashed his teeth in anger. Just then a little Robin alighted on a branch near the Tutor’s head, and began to sing sweetly. The Tutor, picking up a stone, threw it, and the bird fell dying to the ground.
Frederic could restrain himself no longer. “You horrible Tutor Ink!” he cried, “what did the little bird do to you, that you should strike it dead?” And looking toward the thicket, he called sadly: “Oh! where are you, beautiful Shining Child? Oh, come! Only come! Let us fly far, far away! I cannot stay beside this horrible creature any longer.”
And Fanchon, stretching out her hands, sobbed and wept bitterly. “Oh, you darling Shining Child,” she cried. “Come to us! Come to us! Save us! Save us! Tutor Ink is killing us, as he is killing the flowers and birds!”
“What do you mean by the Shining Child?” snarled Tutor Ink.
But at that instant there was a loud whispering, and a rustling, in the thicket, and a sound as of muffled drums tolling in the distance. Then the children saw, in a shining cloud that floated above them, the beautiful face of the Stranger Child, and tears like glittering pearls were rolling down its rosy cheeks.
“Ah! darling playmates!” it cried. “I cannot come to you any more! Farewell! Farewell! The Gnome Mouche has you in his power! Oh! you poor children, good-bye! good-bye!”