Chapter 5
I gently pulled the pin.
The butterfly was already dry, so it held its shape.
I placed it in the palm of my hand and carried it out of Emile's room.
At that moment, I felt nothing but a great sense of satisfaction.
Hidden the butterfly in my right hand, I went down the stairs.
That's when it happened.
I heard someone coming up the stairs toward me from below.
In that moment, my conscience awoke.
I suddenly realized that I had committed theft, a despicable person.
At the same time, I was overcome with a terrible fear that my theft would be discovered, and I instinctively thrust the hand that had been hiding the stolen butterfly into my jacket pocket.
I continued walking slowly, trembling with the cold feeling of having done something so bold and shameful.
After nervously passing the maid as she came upstairs, I stopped at the entrance to the house, my heart pounding, my brow sweating, nervous and terrified of myself.
I immediately realized that I shouldn't have kept the butterfly, that I should return it and, if possible, act as if nothing had happened.
So, extremely terrified of running into someone and being discovered, I hurried back, ran up the stairs, and a minute later was standing in Emil's room again.
I reached into my pocket and placed the butterfly on the desk.
Before I even got a good look at it, I knew what misfortune had happened.
And I nearly cried.
The Sloe Emperor Moth was crushed.
One of its front wings and one of its antennae was missing.
I carefully tried to pull the torn wing out of my pocket, but it was in pieces and no attempt to mend it was out of the question.
More than the feeling of having stolen, what tormented me was the sight of the beautiful, rare butterfly I had crushed.
I saw the delicate auburn dust of its wing stuck to my fingers.
I also saw the scattered wings lying there.
I would gladly give up all my possessions and pleasures if I could restore it to its original state.
Sad, I returned home and sat in our small garden until evening, when I finally mustered the courage to tell my mother everything.
My mother was shocked and sad, but she seemed to sense that my confession would be more painful for me than any punishment I would have had to endure.
"You must go to Emile," my mother said firmly.
"And you have to say it yourself. There's no other way. You have to offer to take something from him as compensation, and ask for his forgiveness."
If it had been any of my friends, not that model boy, I would have been ready to do that right away.
I had a clear feeling in advance that he wouldn't understand what I was saying, and probably wouldn't believe me at all.
