Friday, 10th.
Precossi came to our house to-day with Garrone. I do not think that two
sons of princes would have been received with greater delight. This is
the first time that Garrone has been here, because he is rather shy, and
then he is ashamed to show himself because he is so large, and is still
in the third grade. We all went to open the door when they rang. Crossi
did not come, because his father has at last arrived from America, after
an absence of seven years. My mother kissed Precossi at once. My father
introduced Garrone to her, saying:--
"Here he is. This lad is not only a good boy; he is a man of honor and a
gentleman."
And the boy dropped his big, shaggy head, with a sly smile at me.
Precossi had on his medal, and he was happy, because his father has gone
to work again, and has not drunk anything for the last five days, wants
him to be always in the workshop to keep him company, and seems quite
another man.
We began to play, and I brought out all my things. Precossi was
enchanted with my train of cars, with the engine that goes of itself on
being wound up. He had never seen anything of the kind. He devoured the
little red and yellow cars with his eyes. I gave him the key to play
with, and he knelt down to his amusement, and did not raise his head
again. I have never seen him so pleased. He kept saying, "Excuse me,
excuse me," to everything, and motioning to us with his hands, that we
should not stop the engine; and then he picked it up and replaced the
cars with a thousand precautions, as though they had been made of glass.
He was afraid of tarnishing them with his breath, and he polished them
up again, examining them top and bottom, and smiling to himself. We all
stood around him and gazed at him. We looked at that slender neck, those
poor little ears, which I had seen bleeding one day, that jacket with
the sleeves turned up, from which projected two sickly little arms,
which had been upraised to ward off blows from his face. Oh! at that
moment I could have cast all my playthings and all my books at his feet,
I could have torn the last morsel of bread from my lips to give to him,
I could have divested myself of my clothing to clothe him, I could have
flung myself on my knees to kiss his hand. "I will at least give you the
train," I thought; but--was necessary to ask permission of my father. At
that moment I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I looked; it was
written in pencil by my father; it said:
"Your train pleases Precossi. He has no playthings. Does your heart
suggest nothing to you?"
Instantly I seized the engine and the cars in both hands, and placed the
whole in his arms, saying:--
"Take this; it is yours."
He looked at me, and did not understand. "It is yours," I said; "I give
it to you."
Then he looked at my father and mother, in still greater astonishment,
and asked me:--
"But why?"