“That is very true, Marie; you don’t forget anything. It never occurred to me that Jeannie must be there.”
“He lives close to the farm, and he will not fail to do your errand.”
When they had taken this precaution, Germain put the mare to a trot, and Petit-Pierre was so overjoyed that for a time he forgot that he had gone without his dinner; but the motion of the horse gave him a hollow feeling in his stomach, and at the end of a league, he began to gape and grow pale, and confessed that he was dying of hunger.
“This is the way it begins,” exclaimed Germain. “I was quite sure that we should not go far without this young gentleman crying with hunger or thirst.”
“I am thirsty, too!” said Petit-Pierre.
“Very well, then, let’s go to Mother Rebec’s tavern at Corlay, the sign of ‘The Dawn’—a pretty sign, but a poor lodging. You will take something to drink, too, will you not, Marie?”
“No, no; I don’t want anything. I will hold the mare while you go in with the child.”
“But I remember, my good girl, that this morning you gave the bread from your own breakfast to my Pierre. You have had nothing to eat. You would not take dinner with us at home; you would do nothing but cry.”
“Oh, I was not hungry; I felt too sad, and I give you my word that even now I have no desire to eat.”
“You must oblige yourself to eat, little girl, else you will fall sick. We have a long way to go, and it will not do to arrive half-starved and beg for bread before we say how d’ ye do. I shall set you a good example myself, although I am not very hungry: and I am sure that I can, for, after all, I did not eat any dinner. I saw you crying, you and your mother, and it made me feel sad. Come along. I am going to tie the gray at the door. Get down; I wish you to.”