gave a manly jump over the side of his basket, looked at his porringer, thought it quite natural, sat down on the floor and began to eat his soup.
Georgette's prattling had not waken Gros-Alain, but at the sound of the spoon in the porringer, he turned over with a start, and opened his eyes. Gros-Alain was the one three years old. He saw his porringer, it was within reach, he took it and without getting out of bed placed the porringer on his knees, took the spoon in his hand, and like René-Jean began to eat.
Georgette did not hear them, and the undulations of her voice seemed to modulate the rocking of a dream. Her large open eyes were looking up and were divine; whether the ceiling or the heavens be above a child's head, it is always the sky which is reflected in its eyes.
When René-Jean had finished, he scraped the bottom of the porringer with his spoon, sighed, and said with dignity,—
"I have eaten my soup."
This woke Georgette from her reverie.
"Poupoupe," said she.
And seeing that René-Jean had eaten his, and that Gros-Alain was eating, she took the porringer of soup beside her, and began also to eat, carrying her spoon much oftener to her ear than to her mouth.
From time to time, she renounced civilization and ate with her fingers.
Gros-Alain after having scraped the bottom of the porringer as his brother had done, went to join him and ran behind him.
