It was surprising how quickly the old woman dried her tears. "Thou art a brave gars, a good gars," she said, nodding her head. "Thou shalt perhaps find service at the château. Who knows?" Jean-Paul did not reply, but Mère Vatinel took it as a sacred promise, for did she not know she would never be content? * * * * * Jean-Paul bought his rabbit at the Gingerbread Fair. On certain _fête_ days in the little square before the Mayory all the world goes to buy gingerbread. They are fascinating, those long pieces of brown cake with colored candies on the top. And the extraordinary men! And the animals whose like is seen in few zoological gardens! I should say all the world went _to see_, and those who had a few sous bought, and the others stood and looked on in admiration and envy. Jean-Paul sauntered along, his blue cap pushed back on his head, his hands in his pockets; he tinkled the ten sous of his savings noisily, for he was the proud owner of ten whole sous. He could buy a good deal of gingerbread with this, but not too much. He thought, however, that he would spend five sous at throwing the rings, and with the rest collect a gingerbread menagerie. To throw the rings is a delightful sport; one can never have too many jack-knives. The knives are stuck by the blades in rows on an inclined board. Then you buy five rings for five sous. You take aim, try to encircle a knife with a ring, and if you succeed the prize is yours. Jean-Paul was an expert, and had his eyes on three "rippers," as he called them in his French slang. The little man who kept the booth knew him, and nodded to him, and held out the rings, when a loud burst of laughter from a group of boys at his right hand made Jean-Paul look toward them. They were gathered in a circle, and intensely watching something in their midst. The lad walked toward them, and looked too. A little brown rabbit, trembling with fright, its eyes wild and startled, cowered in the centre of a chalk circle which the boys had drawn around him. "Look, Jean-Paul!" said a little boy, plucking his sleeve. "They are laying wagers as to how far the rabbit will jump when Pierre pokes him with his stick. It is my rabbit, Jean-Paul, and they are to give me a sou for the sport." Jean-Paul said nothing. He looked at Pierre, who was a big brutal fellow with a coarse face. He was cabin-boy on one of the ships that sail between Havre and New York, and he had come home for a holiday. Leaning forward, he gave the rabbit a sharp poke with the pointed stick. The poor thing leaped clear out of the line, and was greeted with shouts of applause. "She's better than a gingerbread bunny," laughed Pierre, "and just the color. Jump! Jump, ma belle!"