"The good _curé_ says God takes care of the birds--He gave the little robins to the old ones, just as He gave us to our fathers and mothers; so it _must_ be wicked to steal them away. And now, cousin dear, do come down and let them be."
But Auguste had already grasped the nest. He tore it away from its place, and slid with it down the tree. The old birds flew about him in the utmost distress, uttering wild, piercing cries of fear and sorrow. Leon's tender heart was touched by their grief--he expostulated and pleaded with his cousin, and then, seeing that entreaties were in vain, grew very angry--he even doubled up his little fists, and was about to fight for the liberation of the tiny captives. But he remembered in time the pious teachings of his mother and the good _curé_, and returned home, with a swelling heart and tearful eyes, while his cousin hurried off to the chateau, with the robins.
When Leon told his mother the story of the birds, she was very indignant, and started to seek Auguste's father, and ask him to send after the cruel boy, and compel him to restore the young robins to the old ones, for her kind mother-heart felt for them very much. But when Leon told her that they were taken for the Countess, she sat down to her work again, and said it was all well, for she had a great awe of the great lady.
Leon hoped in his heart that the good Countess would refuse the birds, and send Auguste back with the nest; so he waited as patiently as he could for his cousin's return. He came back, however, without the nest, triumphantly jingling a handful of silver coin.
"See," he cried, "what the Countess gave me for the robins! Here, Leon, is your share."
Leon took the money, but only to fling it all indignantly at his cousin's feet, bursting into tears as he did so. Some may think I ought to be sorry to tell of this fit of passion in my noble little hero, but I am not. While the angry tears were yet flowing, he rushed out of his father's cottage, and ran towards the chateau. He did not stop to rest, or slacken his pace till he reached the great hall door. Then he paused, and the thought of the dusky arches of the old hall, hung with faded banners, and the grim statues in armor standing along its walls, and that stern, black-bearded Count, whom he might meet, almost took away his courage. He stood poised on the tips of his toes, with his hand on the great knocker, hesitating and fearing, when, all at once, he seemed to hear again the wild, mournful cry of the poor mother-robin!--then his heart grew brave, and he boldly sounded the knocker.