"But if they say we stole the money to buy it," he said, "we can't prove that we earned it, and when one is unfortunate they always think you're guilty." That was true. "And who'll feed her?" went on Mattia dismally. Oh, dear, I did hope that they would feed our poor cow. "And what are we going to say when they question us in the morning?" asked Mattia. "Tell them the truth." "And then they'll hand you over to Barberin, or if Mother Barberin is alone at her place and they question her to see if we are lying, we can't give her a surprise." "Oh, dear!" "You've been away from Mother Barberin for a long time; how do you know if she isn't dead?" This terrible thought had never occurred to me, and yet poor Vitalis had died, ... how was it I had not thought that I might lose her.... "Why didn't you say that before?" I demanded. "Because when I'm happy I don't have those ideas. I have been so happy at the thought of offering your cow to Mother Barberin and thinking how pleased she'd be, I never thought before that she might be dead." It must have been the influence of this dismal room, for we could only see the darkest side of everything. "And, oh," cried Mattia, starting up and throwing out his arms, "if Mother Barberin is dead and that awful Barberin is alive and we go there, he'll take our cow and keep it himself." It was late in the afternoon when the door was thrown open and an old gentleman with white hair came into our prison. "Now, you rogues, answer this gentleman," said the jailer, who accompanied him. "That's all right, that's all right," said the gentleman, who was the public prosecutor, "I'll question this one." With his finger he indicated me. "You take charge of the other; I'll question him later." I was alone with the prosecutor. Fixing me with his eye, he told me that I was accused of having stolen a cow. I told him that we bought the animal at the fair at Ussel, and I named the veterinarian who had assisted us in the purchase. "That will be verified," he replied. "And now what made you buy that cow?" I told him that I was offering it as a token of affection to my foster mother. "Her name?" he demanded. "Madame Barberin of Chavanon," I replied. "The wife of a mason who met with a serious accident in Paris a few years ago. I know her. That also will be verified." "Oh!..." I became very confused. Seeing my embarrassment, the prosecutor pressed me with questions, and I had to tell him that if he made inquiries of Madame Barberin our cow would not be a surprise after all, and to make it a surprise had been our chief object. But in the midst of my confusion I felt a great satisfaction to know that Mother Barberin was still alive, and in the course of the questions that were put to me I learned that Barberin had gone back to Paris some time ago. This delighted me. Then came the question that Mattia had feared. "But how did you get all the money to buy the cow?"