and likes me. I have fed him
through the bars of his cage many times; and last December, when
they chopped off two of his fingers to remind him to stop seizing and
wounding people passing by, I dressed his hand every day till it was
well again."

"That is all well enough," said Little Mengette, "but he is a madman,
dear, and so his likings and his gratitude and friendliness go for
nothing when his rage is up. You did a perilous thing."

"Of course you did," said the Sunflower. "Didn't he threaten to kill you
with the ax?"

"Yes."

"Didn't he threaten you more than once?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you feel afraid?"

"No--at least not much--very little."

"Why didn't you?"

She thought a moment, then said, quite simply:

"I don't know."

It made everybody laugh. Then the Sunflower said it was like a lamb
trying to think out how it had come to eat a wolf, but had to give it
up.

Cecile Letellier asked, "Why didn't you run when we did?"

"Because it was necessary to get him to his cage; else he would kill
some one. Then he would come to the like harm himself."

It is noticeable that this remark, which implies that Joan was entirely
forgetful of herself and her own danger, and had thought and wrought
for the preservation of other people alone, was not challenged, or
criticized, or commented upon by anybody there, but was taken by all
as matter of course and true. It shows how clearly her character was
defined, and how well it was known and established.

There was silence for a time, and perhaps we were all thinking of the
same thing--namely, what a poor figure we had cut in that adventure as
contrasted with Joan's performance. I tried to think up some good way of
explaining why I had run away and left a little girl at the mercy of
a maniac armed with an ax, but all of the explanations that offered
themselves to me seemed so cheap and shabby that I gave the matter up
and remained still. But others were less wise. Noel Rainguesson fidgeted
awhile, then broke out with a remark which showed what his mind had been
running on:

"The fact is, I was taken by surprise. That is the reason. If I had had
a moment to think, I would no more have thought of running that I would
think of running from a baby. For, after all, what is Theophile Benoist,
that I should seem to be afraid of him? Pooh! the idea of being afraid
of that poor thing! I only wish he would come along now--I'd show you!"

"So do I!" cried Pierre Morel. "I