Poor Pierotte! She took one look, gave a scream, and covered her face with her hands.
"That me?" she cried. "Oh! I never, never will think it! What is the matter with us, Pierot? Was it that horrid fairy, do you think? Did she bewitch us?"
"The wish!" faltered Pierot, who at that moment caught sight of the faded rose in his cap. "I wished that we were both grown up, don't you remember? Oh, what a fool I was!"
"You horrid boy! You have gone and wished me into an ugly old woman! I'll never forgive you!" sobbed Pierotte.
"It was your wish too. You said you would like to be as old as father and mother. So you needn't call me horrid!" answered Pierot, angrily.
Silence followed, broken only by Pierotte's sobs. The two old children sat with their backs to each other, under different trees. By and by Pierot's heart began to smite him.
"It was more my fault than hers," he thought; and, turning round a little way, he said coaxingly, "Pierotte."
No answer. Pierotte only stuck out her shoulder a little and remained silent.
"Don't look so cross," went on Pierot. "You can't think how horrid it makes you—a woman of your age!"
"I'm not a woman of my age. Oh, how can you say such things?" sobbed Pierotte. "I don't want to be grown-up. I want to be a little girl again."