'
'Oh, papa,' exclaimed Eugene, 'that lime-tree that has grown so
beautiful since last year! I was looking at it the other day, and I
saw shoots of this year as long as my arm.'
At this moment they came to a young poplar which had been blown down
by a storm the preceding day. Its leaves were not yet withered, but
its young shoots, though still green, began to lose their vigour;
they were soft and weak, as if drooping from want of water; but in
that case a refreshing shower would have restored it to health and
freshness, whereas now it was beyond recovery. Eugene stopped before
the poplar, and lamented it.
'Such,' said Monsieur D'Ambly, 'will in two days more be the state of
our lime-tree.'
'Ah!' cried Eugene, 'can you have the heart to say so?'
'Why not? A lime is not more valuable than a poplar, or an oak; and
you would like to see this whole forest in a blaze.'
'Indeed, papa, that is a very different thing.'
'Yes; there is certainly a vast difference between a person cutting
down a tree that incommodes him, and that he would then make use of
for fuel, and fourteen or fifteen thousand that you would burn for
your pleasure.
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