of hands, he naturally raised his head and looked up . . . and he saw in one of the boxes a beautiful lady who wore round her neck a thick gold chain from which hung a medallion. On the medallion was painted the portrait of a puppet.
'That is my portrait! . . . that lady is the Fairy!' said Pinocchio to himself, recognising her immediately; and overcome with delight he tried to cry:
'Oh, my little Fairy! Oh, my little Fairy!'
But instead of these words a bray came from his throat, so sonorous and so prolonged that all the spectators laughed, and more especially all the children who were in the theatre.
Then the director, to give him a lesson, and to make him understand that it is not good manners to bray before the public, gave him a blow on his nose with the handle of his whip.
The poor little donkey put his tongue out an inch, and licked his nose for at least five minutes, thinking perhaps that it would ease the pain he felt.
But what was his despair when, looking up a second time, he saw that the box was empty and that the Fairy had disappeared! . . .
He thought he was going to die: his eyes filled with tears and he began to weep. Nobody, however, noticed it, and least of
