myself. I had never thought much what a father would be. Vaguely, I had imagined him to be a sort of mother with a big voice, but in looking at this one who had fallen from heaven, I felt greatly worried and frightened. I had wanted to kiss him and he had pushed me away with his stick. Why? My mother had never pushed me away when I went to kiss her; on the contrary, she always took me in her arms and held me tight.
"Instead of standing there as though you're made of wood," he said, "put the plates on the table."
I nearly fell down in my haste to obey. The soup was made. Mother Barberin served it on the plates. Then, leaving the big chimney corner, he came and sat down and commenced to eat, stopping only from time to time to glance at me. I felt so uncomfortable that I could not eat. I looked at him also, but out of the corner of my eye, then I turned my head quickly when I caught his eye.
"Doesn't he eat more than that usually?" he asked suddenly.
"Oh, yes, he's got a good appetite."
"That's a pity. He doesn't seem to want his supper now, though."
Mother Barberin did not seem to want to talk. She went to and fro, waiting on her husband.
"Ain't you hungry?"
"No."
"Well then, go to bed and go to sleep at once. If you don't I'll be angry."
