“What’s that?” continued Tyltyl, touching the Child’s blue dress.
The Child, who was absorbed in what he was looking at, did not answer, but gravely touched Tyltyl’s hat with his finger:
“And that?” he lisped.
“That? … That’s my hat,” said Tyltyl. “Have you no hat?”
“No; what is it for?” asked the Child.
“It’s to say How-do-you-do with,” Tyltyl answered. “And then for when it’s cold. …”
“What does that mean, when it’s cold?” asked the Child.
“When you shiver like this: Brrr! Brrr!” said Tyltyl. “And when you go like this with your arms,” vigorously beating his arms across his chest.
“Is it cold on earth?” asked the Child.
“Yes, sometimes, in winter, when there is no fire.”
“Why is there no fire? …”
“Because it’s expensive; and it costs money to buy wood. …”
The Child looked at Tyltyl again as though he did not understand a word that Tyltyl was saying; and Tyltyl in his turn looked amazed:
“It’s quite clear that he knows nothing of the most everyday things,” thought our hero, while the child stared with no small respect at “the little Live Boy” who knew everything.
Then he asked Tyltyl what money was.
“Why, it’s what you pay with!” said Tyltyl, scorning to give any further explanation.
“Oh!” said the Child, seriously.
Of course, he did not understand. How could he know, a little boy like that, who lived in a paradise where his least wishes were granted before he had learned to put them into words?
“How old are you?” asked Tyltyl, continuing the conversation.
“I am going to be born soon,” said the Child. “I shall be born in twelve years. … Is it nice to be born?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Tyltyl, without thinking. “It’s great fun!”
But he was very much at a loss when the little boy asked him “how he managed.” His pride did not allow him to be ignorant of anything in another child’s presence; and it was quite droll to see him with his hands in his breeches-pockets, his legs wide apart, his face upturned and his whole attitude that of a man who is in no hurry to reply. At last, he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders:
“Upon my word, I can’t remember! It’s so long ago!”
“They say it’s lovely, the earth and the Live People!” remarked the Child.
“Yes, it’s not bad,” said Tyltyl. “There are birds and cakes and toys. … Some have them all; but those who have none can look at the others!”
This reflection shows us the whole character of our little friend. He was proud and inclined to be rather high-and-mighty; but he was never envious and his generous nature made up to him for his poverty by allowing him to enjoy the good fortune of others.
The two Children talked a good deal more; but it would take too long to tell you all they said, because what they said was sometimes only interesting to themselves. After a while, Light, who was watching them from a distance, hurried up to them a little anxiously: Tyltyl was crying! Big tears came rolling down his cheeks and falling on his smart coat. She understood that he was talking of his grandmother and that he could not keep back his tears at the thought of the love which he had lost. He was turning away his head, to hide his feelings; but the inquisitive Child kept asking him questions:
“Do the grannies die? … What does that mean, dying?”
“They go away one evening and do not come back.”
“Has yours gone?”
“Yes,” said Tyltyl. “She was very kind to me.”
And, at these words, the poor little fellow began to cry again.
The Blue Child had never seen anyone cry. He lived in a world where grief did not exist. His surprise was great; and he exclaimed:
“What’s the matter with your eyes? … Are they making pearls?”
To him those tears were wonderful things.
“No, it’s not pearls,” said Tyltyl, sheepishly.
“What is it then?”
But our poor friend would not admit what he looked upon as a weakness. He rubbed his eyes awkwardly and put everything down to the dazzling blue of the palace.
The puzzled Child insisted:
“What’s that falling down?”
“Nothing; it’s a little water,” said Tyltyl, impatiently, hoping to cut short the explanation.
But that was out of the question. The Child was very obstinate, touched Tyltyl’s cheeks with his finger and asked, in a tone of curiosity:
“Does it come from the eyes? …”
“Yes, sometimes, when one cries.”
“What does that mean, crying?” asked the Child.
“I have not been crying,” said Tyltyl proudly. “It’s the fault of that blue! … But, if I had cried, it would be the same thing. …”
“Do you often cry on earth? …”
“Not little boys, but little girls do. … Don’t you cry here?”
“No, I don’t know how. …”
“Well, you will learn. …”
At that moment, a great breath of wind made him turn his head and he saw, at a few steps away from him, a large piece of machinery which he had not noticed at first, as he was taken up with his interest in the little Child. It was a grand and magnificent thing, but I cannot tell you its name, because the inventions of the Kingdom of the Future will not be christened by Man until they reach the earth. I can only say that Tyltyl, when he looked at it, thought that the enormous azure wings that whizzed so swiftly before his eyes were like the windmills in his part of the world and that, if he ever found the Blue Bird, its wings would certainly be no more delicate, dainty or dazzling. Full of admiration, he asked his new acquaintance what they were.
“Those?” said the Child. “That’s for the invention which I shall make on earth.”
And, seeing Tyltyl stare with wide-open eyes, he added:
“When I am on earth, I shall have to invent the thing that gives happiness. … Would you like to see it? … It is over there, between those two columns. …”
Tyltyl turned round to look; but all the Children at once rushed at him, shouting:
“No, no, come and see mine! …”
“No, mine is much finer! …”
“Mine is a wonderful invention! …”
“Mine is made of sugar! …”
“His is no
