say so."

"I know. And when you have learned, remember me. And never let
anything--come here that I may put my hand on your head that you do not
forget--never let anything--duty, pleasure, money, or--or a
_woman_--come between you and your music."

The boy stared seriously into the strange face bent over him, the face
from which so much that was bad seemed for the moment to have been swept
away by the luminousness of the idea that had come to the half-idiotic
brain.

"'Duty, pleasure, money or--'"

"Or a _woman_" cried the fiddler, his face contorting with anger. "God
curse them all!" Muttering and frowning he jerked at his dog. "Come,
Papillon, come; we must be getting on, it is late. _Petit chien jaune,
petit chien jaune._"

The dog trotting discreetly at the end of the taut lead, the old man
slouched up the road, brandishing his violin aimlessly and talking aloud
as he went.

"I ask myself," said the little Norman, "how he _knew_."

Then, for he was no longer in haste, he stepped into his green sabots
and started homeward, biting into the apple that had listened.