"A little while," he said, "and I shall know. The punishment was just."

"What punishment, my poor Camille?"

"Hush! The cloud has rolled away. I stand naked before _le bon Dieu_.
Monsieur, lift me up; I am strong."

I winced as I complied. The palm of my hand was scorched and blistered in
a dozen places. He noticed at once, and kissed and fondled the wounded
limb as softly as a woman might.

"Ah, the poor hand!" he murmured. "Monsieur has touched the disc of
fire."

"Camille," I whispered, "what is it?"

"Monsieur shall know--ah! yes, he shall know; but not now. Monsieur, my
mother."

"Thou art right, good son."

I bound up his bruised forehead and my own burnt hand as well as I was
able, and helped him to his feet. He stood upon them staggering; but
in a minute could essay to stumble on the homeward journey with
assistance. It was a long and toilsome progress; but in time we
accomplished it. Often we had to sit down in the blasted woods and rest
awhile; often moisten our parched mouths at the runnels of snow-water
that thridded the undergrowth. The shadows were slanting eastwards
as we reached the clearing we had quitted some hours earlier, and the
goats had disappeared. Petitjean was leading his charges homewards in