"First, dear, unharness Palikare; he is very tired also; and give him something to eat and drink." Perrine did as her mother told her, then returned to the wagon and took out the small stove, some pieces of coal and an old saucepan and some sticks. Outside, she went down on her knees and made a fire; at last, after blowing with all her might, she had the satisfaction of seeing that it had taken. "You'd like some rice, wouldn't you?" she asked, leaning over her mother. "I am not hungry." "Is there anything else you would fancy? I'll go and fetch anything you want. What would you like, mama, dearie?" "I think I prefer rice," said her mother. Little Perrine threw a handful of rice into the saucepan that she had put on the fire and waited for the water to boil; then she stirred the rice with two white sticks that she had stripped of their bark. She only left her cooking once, to run over to Palikare to say a few loving words to him. The donkey was eating the thistles with a satisfaction, the intensity of which was shown by the way his long ears stood up. When the rice was cooked to perfection, Perrine filled a bowl and placed it at her mother's bedside, also two glasses, two plates and two forks. Sitting down on the floor, with her legs tucked under her and her skirts spread out, she said, like a little girl who is playing with her doll: "Now we'll have a little din-din, mammy, dear, and I'll wait on you." In spite of her gay tone, there was an anxious look in the child's eyes as she looked at her mother lying on the mattress, covered with an old shawl that had once been beautiful and costly, but was now only a faded rag. The sick woman tried to swallow a mouthful of rice, then she looked at her daughter with a wan smile. "It doesn't go down very well," she murmured. "You must force yourself," said Perrine; "the second will go down better, and the third better still." "I cannot; no, I cannot, dear!" "Oh, mama!" The mother sank back on her mattress, gasping. But weak though she was, she thought of her little girl and smiled. "The rice is delicious, dear," she said; "you eat it. As you do the work you must feed well. You must be very strong to be able to nurse me, so eat, darling, eat." Keeping back her tears, Perrine made an effort to eat her dinner. Her mother continued to talk to her. Little by little she stopped crying and all the rice disappeared. "Why don't you try to eat, mother?" she asked. "I forced myself." "But I'm ill, dear." "I think I ought to go and fetch a doctor. We are in Paris now and there are good doctors here." "Good doctors will not put themselves out unless they are paid." "We'll pay." "With what, my child?" "With our money. You have seven francs in your pocket and a florin which we could change here. I've got 17 sous. Feel in your pocket."