the gnawing pangs
of hunger.

The scamp did not return that day. He wandered through the woods in
search of nests.

The next day he appeared upon the scene again. Coco, exhausted, had
lain down. When he saw the boy, he got up, expecting at last to have his
place changed.

But the little peasant did not even touch the mallet, which was lying
on the ground. He came nearer, looked at the animal, threw at his head
a clump of earth which flattened out against the white hair, and he
started off again, whistling.

The horse remained standing as long as he could see him; then, knowing
that his attempts to reach the near-by grass would be hopeless, he once
more lay down on his side and closed his eyes.

The following day Zidore did not come.

When he did come at last, he found Coco still stretched out; he saw that
he was dead.

Then he remained standing, looking at him, pleased with what he had
done, surprised that it should already be all over. He touched him with
his foot, lifted one of his legs and then let it drop, sat on him and
remained there, his eyes fixed on the grass, thinking of nothing. He
returned to the farm, but did not mention the accident, because he
wished to wander about at the hours when he used to change the horse's
pasture. He went to see him the next day. At his approach some crows
flew away. Countless flies were walking over the body and were buzzing
around it. When he returned home, he announced the event. The animal was
so old that nobody was surprised. The master said to two of the men:

"Take your shovels and dig a hole right where he is."

The men buried the horse at the place where he had died of hunger. And
the grass grew thick, green and vigorous, fed by the poor body.

DEAD WOMAN'S SECRET

The woman had died without pain, quietly, as a woman should whose life
had been blameless. Now she was resting in her bed, lying on her back,
her eyes closed, her features calm, her long white hair carefully
arranged as though she had done it up ten minutes before dying. The
whole pale countenance of the dead woman was so collected, so calm, so
resigned that one could feel what a sweet soul had lived in that body,
what a quiet existence this old soul had led, how easy and pure the
death of this parent had been.

Kneeling beside the bed, her son, a magistrate with inflexible
principles, and her daughter, Marguerite, known as Sister Eulalie, were
weeping as though their hearts would break. S