The children clapped their hands.
VI.—Pity!
The little fête was brilliant and tumultuous. More than forty children were gathered about an immense table laden with flowers and food of all kinds: smoking puddings; geese, stuffed with chestnuts, and roasted to the hue of gold; pastry and ornamented sweets; and hillocks of comfits and lozenges. But what were more beautiful still, were ten Christmas trees, in all their wealth of green, hung with a thousand playthings of all forms and colours.
Marianne and her four children arrived rather late; but as soon as she appeared a place was made for her. A quarter of an hour later she would have found it difficult to single out the elder ones, they were so completely mixed with the joyous crowd. A little before midnight, Marianne rose and her eyes searched for her truants. She was instantly surrounded.
"You are not going to take them away from us?"
"It is getting late, and to-morrow——"
"To-morrow is a holiday, and to-night you belong to us; besides, the playthings will not be distributed before one o'clock, and you would not like your children not to have their share."
"Well, then," replied Marianne, "I will let the two elder ones stay and leave the third in your charge while I go home and put the youngest to bed. You see he is already asleep, and my neighbour has promised to wait for me."
On this engagement she was allowed to go, and the supper, which was drawing to a close, was continued with redoubled gaiety, with bravos and peals of laughter.
In the street Marianne was surprised at the silence and deep darkness all about her. She felt at first cold, then afraid, and hurried on with rapid steps. But she had not gone many yards before she came to a sudden standstill: a cloud seemed to pass before her eyes and a suppressed scream rent her bosom. She fell back a pace.