"It
was not the fault of the little _ane_ that the stone was loosened. How
could she know? It is you who are hard of heart, to turn upon her
thus. It is because you are Catholic, and believe that the beasts have
no souls."
"It is better to have none than to be a heretic, and the soul burn,"
retorted Innocentina. "I am not hard-hearted. I love my young
Monsieur, and would not see him injured, that is all; while you care
for nothing in the world so much as your old Finois. Ah, I would I had
the _insouciance_ of the _anes_. It is after all that which keeps them
young."
At this we laughed, which annoyed Innocentina so much that she at once
fed to the maligned Fanny a bunch of charming yellow-pink mushrooms
which my prophetic soul told me had been originally intended for her
master's lunch.
Fortunately for us, Joseph--sadly wearing in his buttonhole the
despised cyclamen--discovered a few more of these agreeable little
vegetables, which he tested for our benefit by drawing his sturdy
thumbnail along the stem, showing how the fluted undersurface flushed
red at the touch, while the blood flowed carmine from the wound he
made.
A short rest brought the colour back to the Boy's lips, but we did not
go on again until we had eaten some of the chicken sandwiches which
had been put up for me at the hotel. Climbing had made us hungry,
although we had not been three hours on the way.
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