“How then? Margoton marries a cheese-merchant?”
Never in her life, she thought, had she heard so much of marrying and giving in marriage. At Madame Madeleine’s, one did not marry. And what would they do without Margoton?
“But naturally!” Zitli shrugged and smiled. “The world marries, is it not so? Only not I! If the good God had designed it, he would not have suffered me to fall down the Alp.”
“Oh, Zitli! was that—how did— But perhaps you’d rather not talk about it!” Honor’s cheeks were crimson, her eyes dark and brimming with tears of sympathy.
Zitli cocked his head with a whimsical glance. “But yes! Why not, when that springs to the eye? I was little, see you, mademoiselle, little like a young cat, and I would go hunting chamois with Brother Atli. I ran away, without knowledge of my sister, well aware she would forbid; our parents were already with the saints. I had a little stick which I called my gun; I thought if I said, ‘Bang!’ loud enough, the chamois would fall dead. I creep, I run, I follow my brother, wholly without noise, you understand; he has no knowledge of me. He comes to a steep crag; above—behold! a herd of chamois go bounding! He mounts, strong, strong, himself a goat. I follow; my foot slips; I fall! et voilà!”
Honor shuddered, and covered her eyes with her hands.
“And—and then?”
“Then? For a while I knew nothing. My brother hears my cry as I fall; he descends, picks me up, brings me home. My faith, I was well served, mademoiselle; but those two—” the boy’s gay voice faltered a moment, but only a moment. “Me, I would have whipped that little rascal well!” he cried. “But they are different, my brother and sister. Never one word, mademoiselle, to reproach or rebuke me; never one word! All to help, to care for, to spend their money—ah! finally, that is not to speak of. To be a saint, it needs not always to be dead, hein? In my calendar—with reverence be it said—are always St. Atli and St. Gretli.”
Honor was silent. She felt that it was a very rare thing for Zitli to show his feelings thus. His gay smiling way was the one which best enabled him to bear what he had to bear. She laid her hand on his arm a moment; he nodded.
“Thanks, mademoiselle!” he said briefly. “To return! Once I am perfect in the insides—”