"How I wish they would come in here and talk to me!" sighed Bertrand; "That little girl looks as if she could say amusing things! What sort of people are Americans?"
The curé perceived that the boy was taking too much interest in the strangers; it might be well to discourage this.
"Americans are dangerous people," he said gravely. "They have odd fancies in their heads: they call all men equals; they let every one do what he or she likes; their young children talk of politics, and their girls and boys are allowed to study and to play together. It is a very strange country."
Bertrand's pale cheeks had grown red with excitement, and his eyes flashed.
"A glorious country!" he cried; "When I am a man, I will go and live there!"
The curé looked at him in dismay.
"I think we will take up the study of
