The child offered him the basket, but he only shook his head, pointing after the old woman, who gave him her staff, and walked along with as much ease as little Paul himself.
Now the child was really frightened, and would have run away, but he was already within the gate, and, with a great clang, it closed. The dwarf put up the iron bars, and replaced the bolts. Nothing could be more secure, for all around rose an immense high fence, topped with sharp spikes. It was impossible to escape—no one could get in or out.
A long avenue led to a pleasant-looking house, built in the Spanish fashion. It was shaded with beautiful trees, that had been brought from the southern country. How they waved their long fan-like leaves in the sunshine! It was a picture engraven upon the child’s mind never to be effaced.
Under the shadow of the trees walked the old woman toward the house, and Paul followed with the basket, trembling like the light leaves of the tamarind. Just behind him came the dwarf. He could hear his heavy tread.
“It is no use! no use!” thought the child; but he would gladly have given the tempting crimson tuft, the red morocco ball, all, all his pretty treasures, to have been once more by the mother’s side, selling vegetables in the market.
They entered a large, pleasant drawing-room, with doors opening upon the front piazza and upon the verandah of the inner court, so that, though it was very warm, a delicious breeze swept through the room, and made it delightfully cool.
The old woman threw herself upon a couch, and, pointing to a silver bell, told Paul to ring it, adding, “My little cup-bearer, you must be tired, and I will order something to refresh you before you return to your good mother.”
“I am not so very tired,” said Paul; “let me go—the mother will need me;” and he looked imploringly into the pitiless face that he was beginning to fear above all things.
“Ring the bell, boy,” was the only answer.
So he rang the bell, and the dwarf, who had left them on the piazza, entered.