and sing the tune to make die people of laughing, yet you are not
_con_tent. Let him have in peace his legs, Monsieur George, then!'
But no! and every time Monsieur George come down from the great jump,
Coquelicot is ready, and bite his legs so hard what he can."

Petie laughed outright. "I think that's awful funny!" he said. "I
say, Mis' De Arthenay, I'd like to seen him bite his legs. Did he
holler?"

"Monsieur George? He cry, and go to his bed. All the dogs, they
afraid of Coquelicot, because he have the minds. And he, Coquelicot,
he fear nossing, except Madame when she is angry."

"Who was she?" asked Petie,--"a big dog?"

"Ah, dog, no!" cried Marie, her face flushing. "Madame my violon, my
life, my pleasure, my friend. Ah, _mon Dieu_, what friend have I?"
Her breast heaved, and she broke into a wild fit of crying, forgetting
the child by her side, forgetting everything in the world save the
hunger at her heart for the one creature to whom she could speak, and
who could speak in turn to her.

Petie sat silent, frightened at the sudden storm of sobs and tears.
What had he done, he wondered? At length he mustered courage to touch
his friend's arm softly with his little hand.

"I didn't go to do it!" he said. "Don't ye cry, Mis' De Arthenay! I
don't know what I did, but I didn't go to do it, nohow."

Marie turned and looked at him, and smiled through her tears. "Dear