of my letter, he
might take me and sell me to another man. He probably had the right to
do so. I preferred that Mother Barberin should think that I was an
ungrateful boy rather than run the risk of falling into Barberin's
power.

But though I dared not write, now that I was free, I could go and see
her. Since I had taken Mattia into my "company" I had made up my mind to
do so, for it seemed to me that it could easily be arranged. I would
send him ahead and he could find out if she were alone, and then tell
her that I was not far off, and was only waiting to know if it were safe
for me to come and see her. Then, if Barberin were in the village,
Mattia could ask her to come to some safe spot where I could meet her.

I tramped along in silence, working out this plan. Mattia trudged by my
side; he also seemed to be thinking deeply. The idea came to me to show
off my possessions to Mattia. Unfastening my bag, I proudly spread out
my riches on the grass. I had three cotton shirts, three pairs of socks,
five handkerchiefs, all in good condition, and one pair of shoes,
slightly used.

Mattia was awestruck.

"And you, what have you got?" I asked.

"I've only got my violin."

"Well, we'll go shares, now we're chums; you'll have two shirts, two
pairs of socks, and three handkerchiefs, but as it's only fair that we
go shares in everything, you'll carry my bag for one hour and I'll carry
it for another."

Mattia wanted to refuse the things, but as I had quickly fallen into the
habit of commanding, which, I must say I found very pleasant, I told him
to be silent. I had laid out Etiennette's needle case and also a little
box in which I had placed Lise's rose. Mattia wanted to open this box,
but I would not let him. I put it back in my bag without even lifting
the lid.

"If you want to please me," I said, "you will never touch this box ...
it's a present."

"I promise never to touch it," he said solemnly.

Since I had again donned my sheepskin and my harp there was one thing
which caused me serious thought. That was my trousers. It seemed to me
that an artist ought not to wear long trousers; to appear in public an
artist should have short trousers with stockings coming over them, laced
over and over with colored ribbons. Trousers were all right for a
gardener, but now ... I was an artist! Yes, I must wear knickers. I
quickly took the scissors from Etiennette's work-case.

"While I arrange my trousers," I said to Mattia,