"Can you walk, dear?" he said.
"No—I am afraid!"
Jacques remembered that he was ten, and that Francinette, who was only six, had a right to be afraid.
"Afraid!" he repeated, "what is there to fear? I am not afraid!"
He was not speaking the truth, but he had a vague idea that it was not wrong to tell a falsehood on this occasion. He placed Francinette on the ground, and she clung to his legs. He passed his hand over the wall, and they slowly crept on. The ground was slippery and the air foul. Suddenly Jacques tripped and fell. The little girl began to cry. Her brother had lost his hold on the wall, and when he gathered himself up, he missed the touch of those little hands.
"Cinette! Cinette!" he cried.
She replied with sobs, and he suddenly realized that these sobs were becoming fainter and fainter. Where was she?
"Cinette! stand still."
The voice replied: