prove that it belonged to us. The whole
village seemed to be in the procession which ran behind us up to the
town hall, which was also the station house. The mob pushed us and
sneered at us and called us the most horrible names, and I do believe
that if the officer had not defended us they would have lynched us as
though we were criminals of the deepest dye. The man who had charge of
the town hall, and who was also jailer and sheriff, did not want to
admit us. I thought what a kind man! However, the policeman insisted
that we be locked up, and the jailer finally turned the big key in a
double-locked door and pushed us into the prison. Then I saw why he had
made some difficulty about receiving us. He had put his provision of
onions to dry in this prison and they were strewn out on every bench. He
heaped them all together in a corner. We were searched, our money,
matches and knives taken from us. Then we were locked up for the night.

"I wish you'd give me a good slap," said Mattia miserably, when we were
alone; "box my ears or do something to me."

"I was as big a fool as you to let you play the cornet to a cow," I
replied.

"Oh, I feel so bad about it," he said brokenly; "our poor cow, the
Prince's cow!" He began to cry.

Then I tried to console him by telling him that our situation was not
very serious. We would prove that we bought the cow; we would send to
Ussel for the veterinarian ... he would be a witness.

"But if they say we stole the money to buy it," he said, "we can't prove
that we earned it, and when one is unfortunate they always think you're
guilty." That was true.

"And who'll feed her?" went on Mattia dismally.

Oh, dear, I did hope that they would feed our poor cow.

"And what are we going to say when they question us in the morning?"
asked Mattia.

"Tell them the truth."

"And then they'll hand you over to Barberin, or if Mother Barberin is
alone at her place and they question her to see if we are lying, we
can't give her a surprise."

"Oh, dear!"

"You've been away from Mother Barberin for a long time; how do you know
if she isn't dead?"

This terrible thought had never occurred to me, and yet poor Vitalis had
died, ... how was it I had not thought that I might lose her....

"Why didn't you say that before?" I demanded.

"Because when I'm happy I don't have those ideas. I have been so happy
at the thought of offering your cow to Mother Barberin and thinking how
pleased she'd be, I