“Very well then, go ahead! Follow me if you can.”
I took a last look at the garden where my mother was sleeping. A tear rolled from my eyes; the wind and rain carried it away. I spread my wings, and set out.
III
My wings, I have said, were not very strong yet. While my guide went like the wind, I panted at his side; I kept up for some time, but soon such a violent dizziness seized me that I felt as if I should faint.
“Is there far to go yet?” I asked in a weak voice.
“No,” he answered me, “we are at Bourget; we have only sixty leagues to do now.”
I tried to take fresh courage, not wishing to look like a draggled hen, and flew another quarter of an hour, but, for once, I was done up.
“Sir,” I stammered afresh, “couldn’t we stop here a moment? I have a horrible thirst, which is torturing me, and, if we perched on a tree....”
“Go to the devil! You’re a blackbird!” answered the carrier-pigeon in a rage.
And, without deigning to turn his head, he continued his journey in high dudgeon. As for me, dazed and blind, I fell into a corn-field.