Zitli thrust into her hand a saucer containing a lump of salt. “She desires bonbons!” he said. “Behold the bonbons of La Dumaine, my Ladies!”
Honor, curled up at the Sister’s feet, watched entranced as the pink tongue curled eagerly round the salt. She was in such a state of wonderment and rapture, she was conscious of nothing save the cows; but suddenly a hand clutched hers, and a voice whispered,
“Moriole, I faint! I die! I can bear no more!”
Honor, turning in amazement, beheld Stephanie, white as chalk, her eyes starting from their sockets, her teeth absolutely chattering.
“But what is it?” she cried. “Stephanie, what ails thee? My Sister, Stephanie is ill!”
“My child!” Soeur Séraphine turned in anxiety. “You find yourself ill?”
“She’s afraid of the cows!” said Patricia bluntly.
“But no! of these gentle creatures? Can it be? Come, my child! Lay your hand on the beautiful head! Observe her gentleness! A lamb is less mild!”
She tried to draw Stephanie toward her: and in so doing drew back the saucer a little. La Dumaine pursued it, snuffing and blowing appreciatively: at this Stephanie uttered a wild shriek, and springing up, rushed to one side to escape the terrible animal, who, she cried out, would devour her.
Alas! Stephanie had recently had a present of a scarlet parasol, of which she was inordinately proud. So proud that she had brought it with her to the fête, regardless of the gibes of the other girls. In her sidewise rush, the parasol, still clutched in her hand, was presented full to the view of the Duchess of Montbazon, within two feet of her purple nose. The Duchess, in no mood to endure this, lowered her head with a furious bellow, and leaving her place in the ranks, advanced upon Stephanie, who fled with shrieks that rent the air. The other cows, startled, huddled together: at the rear, Le Roi, the splendid young bull, raised his great head, crowned with the milking-stool, and uttered a loud moo of inquiry.