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Updated: June 14, 2025
She was looking at him, and thinking that after all he looked rather like a nice boy, she thought she would reply. "He comes from Greece," she said. "Greece!" he echoed. "That's why he's called Palikare." "Ah! that's why." But in spite of his broad grin he was not at all sure why a donkey that came from Greece should be called Palikare. "Is it far ... Greece?" "Very far."
So quickly had this happened that she had not had time to recognize the big velvety head which belonged to a donkey, but while the great tongue continued to lick her face and hands she was able to look up at it. Palikare! It was dear, dear Palikare! She threw her arms around her donkey's neck and burst into tears. "My darling, dear, darling Palikare," she murmured.
She flew to him and flung her arms around his neck. "Oh, grandpapa, what a lovely surprise!" she cried, dancing around her dear Palikare. "You don't owe it to me," said her grandfather. "Fabry bought it from that ragpicker to whom you sold it. The office staff offer it as a gift to their old comrade." "Oh, hasn't Monsieur Fabry got a good, kind heart!" cried Perrine.
"That boy who spoke to me at the Gates told me that Palikare was a fine donkey, and he knows, for he is in a circus. It was because he thought Palikare was so beautiful that he spoke to me." "I don't know how much an Eastern donkey would bring in Paris, but we'll see as soon as we can," said the sick woman.
Hope had given the sick woman an appetite. She had eaten nothing for two days; now she ate a half of the roll. "You see," said Perrine, gleefully. "Everything will be all right soon," answered her mother with a smile. Perrine went to the house to inquire of Grain-of-Salt what steps she should take to sell the wagon and dear Palikare. As for the wagon, nothing was easier.
He seemed to know by instinct that this was a market where horses and donkeys were sold. He was afraid. Perrine coaxed him, commanded him, begged him, but he still refused to move. Grain-of-Salt thought that if he pushed him from behind he would go forward, but Palikare, who would not permit such familiarity, backed and reared, dragging Perrine with him.
It seemed that the flowers belonged to no one, for Palikare was allowed to eat them if he wished, yet she was afraid to pick the tiniest one without first asking Grain-of-Salt. "Do you want to sell them?" he asked. "No, just to put a few in our room," she replied. "Oh, if that's it you may take as many as you like, but if you are going to sell them, I might do that myself.
"There, there; I'll make you some dinner," said Perrine cheerfully. "What would you like?" "First, dear, unharness Palikare; he is very tired also; and give him something to eat and drink." Perrine did as her mother told her, then returned to the wagon and took out the small stove, some pieces of coal and an old saucepan and some sticks.
"Shall I give you something?" asked Perrine. "What?" "There are some shops near by. I can buy a lemon. I'll come back at once." "No, keep the money. We have so little. Go back to Palikare and stop him from eating the straw." "That's not easy," answered the little girl. She went back to the donkey and pushed him on his haunches until he was out of reach of the straw in front of him.
"You follow the fortifications ... nothing easier." As it happened, the street where La Rouquerie lived was not far from the Horse Market, and it did not take them long to get there. There were heaps of garbage before her place, just like in Guillot Field. The moment of parting had come. As she tied Palikare up in a little stable, her tears fell on his head.
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