THE AWAKENING OF THE CHRYSALIS
When Pierre returned home he had much to tell his mother and Marie, you
may be sure, of his visit to Pont-de-Saint-Michel, and of the new friend
he had made at the Gaspard mills.
Now that the rush of handling the cocoons was over the days were not so
crowded, and although there was still plenty to keep the Bretton family
busy, Pierre and Marie resumed their normal routine of life, having
daily lessons with Monsieur le Cure, and aiding their mother in the
regular round of household tasks. There was a thorough cleaning of the
silk-house that it might be in readiness for the coming season; then
there was the money from the cocoons, the wonderful shining francs which
the family had earned together, to be invested. Part of them were laid
aside for living expenses; and part were spent in comforts for the loved
ones who were in the fighting line.
As she now had more leisure Madame Bretton went each day to the village
church to work with the other women at stripping and rolling bandages;
and when at home her deft fingers were never idle but flew to and fro at
her knitting. Marie, too, had learned to knit and although she
complained that her needles refused to _click_ as did her mother's, she
nevertheless was already able to make a sock and fashion its toe and
heel without help. As for Pierre, he split the wood, cared for the cow
and the goats, toiled in the field, brought hay from the hillsides, and
assumed much of the heavy work which his father and uncle had been
accustomed to do. A new manliness had crept into his bearing, causing
his mother to regard him with puzzled surprise, and not a little
satisfaction.
"You are a great comfort to me, Pierre," she would exclaim a score of
times a day.
Once the lad had flushed with pleasure at overhearing her say to
Monsieur le Cure:
"What should I do without my good son, my brave Pierre, to lean upon?"
Thus nearly two months sped past, and the moths within the cocoons that
had been laid aside for breeding began to hatch out and force themselves
through the small apertures they rent in their silken houses.
Marie viewed the first arrivals in consternation.
"They will fly all about the house and we shall lose them!" she cried.
"What can we do with them?"
But Pierre only laughed.
"Have no fear, little sister," he answered reassuringly. "Josef says
they will but flutter far enough to find their mates, and when their
eggs are laid they will die."
"Alas," sighed the girl, "what a wee time they have to enjoy the glory
of their new wings! Is it not sad, Mother?"
Madame Bretton regarded the child gravely for a moment; then she shook
her head and smiled into her little daughter's troubled eyes.
"It is not so sad as it seems," she answered gently. "The silkworm has
completed its work, and there is no need for it to live longer. It is so
with all of us. Each is put into the world with a task to finish, and
there can be no greater happiness than to know that that work--whatever
it was--has been faithfully accomplished. To me the lesson of these tiny
creatures' lives is an inspiration."
Marie smiled faintly, but was still unconvinced.
"But to have it all end just when they have got their wings, Mother!"
"But it does not end, cherie," was the quiet reply. "The moths leave
behind them their eggs, which hatch into another family of silkworms.
The work goes on, don't you see; it does not stop."
The girl's face brightened.
"It is so with children," continued her mother. "They live after their
parents are gone, and carry forward the family name and the good
principles their fathers and mothers have left in their keeping. You and
Pierre will, I hope, take out into the world all the good things your
father and I have attempted to teach you. Try to live always so that the
name you bear shall be honored. We have been poor French peasants but we
have never done anything that could cause you shame. And now in addition
to that knowledge you will have it ever to remember that your father was
a soldier of France, and when trouble came to our beloved land he gladly
offered his life to serve her."
A light of exaltation glowed in the woman's eyes.
Pierre, who had stolen unnoticed into the room, thought he had never
seen his mother so beautiful. There was something in her face that
brought to his mind the Jeanne d'Arc statue in the village square.
Softly he bent and kissed her cheek.
With the gesture Madame Bretton seemed to rouse herself, and her grave
mood instantly shifted into playfulness.
"Dear, dear!" she cried. "How serious we all are getting! It was your
moths, Pierre, that set me moralizing this way. Our work with them is
not yet done, either, for we must spread out the sheets of paper on
which they are to lay their eggs. Then we can move the pairs of moths
onto them."
She rose briskly.
"But how can we, Mother?" queried Marie. "When we touch them they will
surely fly away, won't they?"
"No, dear. After the moths have found their mates they can be moved very
easily. I have often seen your father take them gently by the wings and
put as many couples as he could on large sheets of white paper. There
they remained, and after their eggs were laid we removed the moths and
folding the papers of eggs put them away for next season's hatching. The
eggs were fastened so firmly to the paper that there was no danger of
losing any of them. Now where shall we spread the papers for our own
moths? They must be put well out of the sun and the strong light and
also where there is nothing to disturb the butterflies--no mice or
insects for example--or they will not lay eggs for us. Suppose we spread
our papers in Uncle Jacques' room. It is not in use now and it is on the
shady side of the house."
Rising, she crossed the floor and threw open the door of a vacant
bedroom.
Pierre noticed a shade of sadness flit across her face.
"Uncle Jacques would be glad to think we are using his room, Mother,"
said the boy quickly. "He has always been so interested in the
silkworms. Perhaps by the time the mulberry trees leaf again we shall
have peace, and he and Father will be once more at home helping us hatch
out these very eggs. Who knows?"
"Who knows indeed, dear? Only the good God who is watching over their
lives! It may be as you say. The spring may see them back again. We must
do our part to be ready for their coming."
From a drawer she brought out some large flat sheets of white paper and
spread them upon table, bureau, bed, and chairs. As the room was long
there was plenty of space.
[Illustration: "GO ON TIPTOE"]
"Now see how careful you can be in bringing in the moths. Go on tiptoe
and move gently."
Slowly the pairs of greenish white butterflies were transferred to the
papers. Scarcely one did more than flutter feebly.
"How long will it take before the eggs are laid, Mother?" inquired
Pierre.
"From twenty-four to thirty-six hours--usually not longer than that.
Each female moth will lay three or four hundred eggs."
"Shall we have room for so many?"
"Oh, yes," nodded Madame Bretton. "You recall how small they are--only
about the size of the head of a pin."
"In the meantime what are we going to give the moths to eat?" asked
Marie.
"Nothing. They are not hungry like silkworms. After they leave the
cocoon they eat no food, and they will live but a few days after their
eggs are laid. We must then gather up the sheets of eggs as quickly as
we can, for if they are left exposed to the light and air they will
hatch at once and then where should we be?"
"The entire crop would be lost!" gasped Pierre.
"Yes. Your father had a friend to whom that misfortune happened. He was
careless and left the newly laid eggs too long in the light, and when he
came back from the hills where he had gone on a few days' journey to cut
hay the tiny silkworms were hatched and he had nothing on which to feed
them. At that season the young mulberry leaves had gone by and, in fact,
the trees were nearly bare. It was a good lesson to him; but it was a
sad one, for the next spring he had to buy silkworm eggs, and they cost
him many francs."
"We will be more careful than that, won't we, Mother?" Marie said.
"I certainly hope so, for we can ill afford to waste our money."
And the Bretton family were more careful. Within a day or two the great
sheets of eggs were folded and put away in a dry, dark place where they
would be safe until the spring when, as the children insisted, Father
and Uncle Jacques might be at home again to share in the hatching and
direct the raising of the new crop of silkworms.
[Illustration]