I will not be whipped!" As he spoke, the boy's eyes flashed defiance.

He crossed his arms on his breast, lifted his head proudly, planted himself sturdily on his feet, and flung at them all a look of mingled indignation and determination.
Supper was ready; and the family, all save Napoleon, seated themselves at the table.

The five minutes granted him by the canon had run into a longer time, when little Pauline, distressed at sight of her brother standing pale and grave in front of the open sideboard and the despoiled basket of fruit, rose from her chair; approaching him, she whispered, "Poor boy! they will give you the whip.

I am sure of it.

Hear me! While they are not looking, run away.