“Papa,” cried Eusèbe, “I won’t go away from here till you buy the horse.” And he began to tear his hair, and stamp on the ground, uttering piercing shrieks.
“I want the horse! I want the horse!” he cried.
“My noble gentleman,” urged the man, “what are eighty francs to you? When I was rich I would have given more to spare my children’s tears.”
“Oh dear! oh dear! I feel that I am going to fall,” cried Eusèbe, turning round and round.
“Oh, calm yourself, my child,” cried his mother.
“Eusèbe, my dear boy,” said his father kindly, “I will give you another horse. You shall have the most expensive that can be found.”
“No, I want this one; I want this one.”
“Well, well, you shall have it—there; only don’t cry.”
“But I want it directly.”
“You shall have it directly. We will take it away with us.”