Leon took the money, but only to fling it all indignantly at his cousin's feet, bursting into tears as he did so. Some may think I ought to be sorry to tell of this fit of passion in my noble little hero, but I am not. While the angry tears were yet flowing, he rushed out of his father's cottage, and ran towards the chateau. He did not stop to rest, or slacken his pace till he reached the great hall door. Then he paused, and the thought of the dusky arches of the old hall, hung with faded banners, and the grim statues in armor standing along its walls, and that stern, black-bearded Count, whom he might meet, almost took away his courage. He stood poised on the tips of his toes, with his hand on the great knocker, hesitating and fearing, when, all at once, he seemed to hear again the wild, mournful cry of the poor mother-robin!—then his heart grew brave, and he boldly sounded the knocker.
When a servant went to the Countess and told her that another little peasant boy wanted to see her, she happened to be in the nursery, paying a visit to her baby-son, the heir to the title and estates of the Count de Vallence. She was sitting by his side, fondly watching him, as he lay asleep in a beautiful little cradle, all satin and down, and fine linen and rich lace. The lady looked surprised when she saw Leon's flushed and tearful face.
"Why, my child," she said kindly, "what do you want of me?"
"I want those little birds," he replied rather bluntly.
"Those birds!" she answered, "why, did not Auguste give you part of the money? I told him to."
"I don't want any money," said Leon, "I want the birds back again. It wasn't good of you to buy them—their father and mother are grieving for them. It was a wicked thing to steal away their little ones, and the nice nest they had worked so hard to make. Aint you afraid that they will fly up to God and tell him all about it? And how would you feel to have some great giant's boy come and steal your little one, and carry it away in that pretty nest, there?"
At first, the Countess smiled at this earnest little speech—then the tears rushed to her eyes; she bent down and kissed her sleeping babe, then, turning to Leon, she laid her hand caressingly on his head, saying, "I thank you, my dear child, for the lesson you have taught me. Surely you shall have the little robins back again. I have done wrong to buy them. I ask pardon of you, and of God."
"And of the birds," added Leon.
"And of the birds," repeated the Countess, smiling a little at the child's simplicity.