Still, there was nothing melancholy about Georgette's chatter, for her sweet face was wreathed in smiles. Her mouth, her eyes, the dimples in her cheeks, all smiled in concert; and by this smile she seemed to show her delight in the morning. The human soul believes in sunshine. The sky was blue, the weather warm and beautiful; and this frail creature, neither knowing nor comprehending the meaning of life,--living in a dream, as it were,--felt safe amid the loveliness of Nature, with its friendly trees and its pure verdure, the serene and peaceful landscape, with the noises of birds, springs, insects, and leaves, and above all, the intense purity of the sunshine. René-Jean, the oldest of the children, a boy over four years old, was the next one to wake. He stood up, jumped out of his cradle like a little man, discovered his porringer, as the most natural thing that could happen, seated himself on the floor, and began to eat his soup. Georgette's prattle had not roused Gros-Alain, but at the sound of the spoon in the porringer he started and opened his eyes. Gros-Alain was the three-year-old boy. He too saw his bowl, and as it was within reach of his arm, he seized it, and without getting out of bed, with his dish on his knees and his spoon in his fist, he straightway followed the example of René-Jean. Georgette did not hear them; the modulations of her voice seemed to keep time with the cradling of a dream. Her large eyes, gazing upward, were divine; however gloomy may be the vault over a child's head, heaven is always reflected in its eyes. When René-Jean had finished, he scraped the bottom of the porringer with the spoon, sighed, and remarked with dignity,-- "I have eaten my soup." This roused Georgette from her dreaming. "Thoup," said she. And seeing that René-Jean had finished his, and that Gros-Alain was still eating, she took the bowl of soup which stood beside her, and began to eat, carding the spoon quite as often to her ear as she did to her mouth. From time to time she renounced civilization and ate with her fingers. When Gros-Alain had scraped the bottom of his porringer he jumped out of bed and trotted after his brother. II. Suddenly from below rang the blast of a clarion, stern and loud, coming from the direction of the forest, to which a trumpet from the summit of the tower made reply. This time the clarion called, and the trumpet answered. And again came the summons from the clarion, followed by the reply of the trumpet. Then from the edge of the forest rose a voice, distant but clear, shouting distinctly,-- "Brigands, a summons! If by sunset you have not surrendered at discretion, we shall begin the assault." A voice that sounded like the roar of a wild beast answered from the top of the tower,-- "Attack." The voice from below replied,-- "A cannon will be fired as a last warning half an hour before the assault." And the voice from above repeated,-- "Attack."