Herbert pulled down his waistcoat, and, drawing up his head, looked with conscious dignity at Favoretta.
“You know,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that there are two ways of governing people—by reason and by force. Those who have no reason, or who do not use it, must be governed by force.”
“I am not one of those,” said Herbert; “for I hate force.”
“But you must also love reason,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if you would not be one of those.”
“Well, so I do, when I hear it from you,” replied Herbert, bluntly; “for you give me reasons that I can understand, when you ask me to do or not to do any thing: I wish people would always do so.”
“But, Herbert,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you must sometimes be contented to do as you are desired, even when I do not think it proper to give you my reasons;—you will, hereafter, find that I have good ones.”
“I have found that already in a great many things,” said Herbert; “especially about the caterpillar.”
“What about the caterpillar?” said Favoretta.
“Don’t you remember,” said Herbert, “the day that I was going to tread upon what I thought was a little bit of black stick, and she desired me not to do it, and I did not, and afterwards I found out that it was a caterpillar;—ever since that day I have been more ready, you know,” continued he, turning to Mad. de Rosier, “to believe that you might be in the right, and to do as you bid me—you don’t think me obstinate, do you?”
“No,” said Mad. de Rosier.