"So I see. But why do they make you carry such a big bowl? You're too small as yet. How old are you, my boy?" "Six and a half--and I broke the bowl, and papa's soup----" "Yes, yes, it's on the ground; you mustn't think any more about it." "It was cabbage soup--hi! hi!" "Oh! I can smell it. But don't cry any more. I promise you that you shan't be whipped." "Yes, I shall; I broke the bowl, and grandma told me to be very careful." "Come, listen to me: what's your name?" "Coco--and I've broke the bowl." "Well, my little Coco, I'll give you money to buy another bowl, and to have three times as much cabbage soup made. I hope you won't cry any more now." As he spoke, Auguste took a five-franc piece from his pocket and put it in the child's hand; but Coco stared at the coin with his big blue eyes open wider than ever, and continued none the less to sob bitterly, saying: "Papa'll lick me, and so will grandma too." "What! when you give them that money?" "Papa's waiting for the soup for his dinner; and when he sees me without the bowl--" "Well," thought Auguste, "I see that I must take it on myself to arrange this matter. It will make me still later; but this little fellow is so pretty! and they are quite capable of beating him, despite the five-franc piece. I wasted one hour making love to a milkmaid, I can afford to sacrifice a second to save this child a thrashing.--Come, Coco; off we go, my boy! Take me to your father; I'll tell him that it was I who knocked the bowl out of your hands as I passed, and I'll promise that you won't be beaten." Coco looked at Auguste, then turned his eyes on the remains of the vessel, from which he was very reluctant to part. But Dalville took his hand, and the child concluded at last to start. On the way Auguste tried to make him talk, to divert him from his terror. "What does your father do, my boy?" "He works in the fields." "And his name?" "Papa Calleux." "Papa Calleux evidently is not very pleasant, as you're so afraid of him. And your mother?" "She's dead." "Then it's your grandmother who makes the cabbage soup?" "Yes, and she told me to be very careful and not break the bowl, like I did the other time." "Aha! so you've broken one before, have you?" "Yes, and there wasn't anything in it; but they licked me." "You don't seem to be lucky with bowls. But the idea of whipping such a little fellow! These peasants must be very hardhearted. Poor boy! he is still sobbing; and he isn't seven years old! So there's no age at which we haven't our troubles." The boy led Auguste across several fields, through the middle of which ran narrow paths. It took Auguste still farther from Monsieur Destival's; but he did not choose to leave the child until he saw that he was happy. At last they reached a field of potatoes, and Coco stopped and grasped his companion's arm with a trembling hand. "There's papa," he said.