In this one thing the boy remained immovable; neither threats,
abuse, nor blows would force him to sing scurrilous songs about his
mother. Out of fear he did every thing else that his tormentor bade
him. He sung the Marseillaise, and the Caira, he danced the
Carmagnole, uttered his loud hurrahs as Simon drank a glass of
brandy to the weal of the one and indivisible republic; but when he
was ordered to sing mocking songs about Madame Veto, he kept a
stubborn silence, and nothing was able to overcome what Simon called
the "obstinacy of the little viper."
Nothing, neither blows nor kicks, neither threats nor promises! The
child no longer ventured to ask after its mother, or to beg to be
taken to his aunt and sister, but once in a while when he heard a
noise in the room above, he would fix his eyes upon the ceiling for
a long time, and with an expression of longing, and when he dropped
them, again the clear tears ran over his cheeks like transparent
pearls.
He did not speak about his mother, but he thought of her, and once
in the night he seemed to be dreaming of her, for he raised himself
up in bed, kneeled down upon the miserable, dirty mattress, folded
his hands and began to repeat in a loud voice the prayer which his
mother had taught him.
The noise awakened Simon, who roused his wife, to let her listen to
the "superstitious little monkey," whom he would cure forever of his
folly.
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