that he was feeling very lenient towards us. I told him my
experience in the mine, and when I had finished my story, I thought from
his manner, which was almost affectionate, that he would give us our
freedom at once, but instead he went out of the room, leaving me alone,
a prey to my thoughts. After some time he returned with Mattia.

"I am going to have your story investigated at Ussel," he said. "If it
is true, as I hope it is, you will be free to-morrow."

"And our cow?" asked Mattia anxiously.

"Will be given back to you."

"I didn't mean that," replied Mattia; "but who'll feed her, who'll milk
her?"

"Don't worry, youngster," said the prosecutor.

Mattia smiled contentedly.

"Ah, then if they milk our cow," he asked, "may we have some milk for
supper?"

"You certainly shall!"

As soon as we were alone I told Mattia the great news that had almost
made me forget that we were locked up.

"Mother Barberin is alive, and Barberin has gone to Paris!" I said.

"Ah, then the Prince's cow will make a triumphal entry."

He commenced to dance and sing with joy. Carried away by his gayety, I
caught him by the hands, and Capi, who until then had been lying in a
corner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and took his place between us,
standing up on his hind paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wild
dance that the jailer rushed in to see what was the matter, probably
afraid for his onions. He told us to stop, but he spoke very differently
to what he had before. By that, I felt that we were not in a very
serious plight. I had further proof of this when a moment later he came
in carrying a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was not all. He
brought a large piece of white bread and some cold veal, which he said
the prosecutor had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad after
all; dinner and lodging for nothing!

Early the next morning the prosecutor came in with our friend the
veterinarian, who had wanted to come himself to see that we got our
freedom. Before we left, the prosecutor handed us an official stamped
paper.

"See, I'm giving you this," he said; "you are two silly boys to go
tramping through the country without any papers. I have asked the mayor
to make out this passport for you. This is all you will need to protect
you in the future. Good luck, boys."

He shook hands with us, and so did the veterinarian.

We had entered the village miserably, but we left in triumph. Leading
our cow by t