"Filial affection is a most excellent thing. Unfortunately, however, there are travelling expenses to be thought of."

"I came on foot," said Jack, with simple dignity.

"Indeed!" drawled D'Argenton, and then added, "I am glad to see that your legs are in better order than your arms."

And pleased at this mot, the poet bowed coldly, and went on.

A week before, and these words would have scarcely been noticed by Jack, but since the previous night he had not been the same person. His pride was now so wounded that he would have returned to Aulnettes without seeing his mother, had he not wished to speak to her most seriously.

He entered the salon; it was in disorder: chairs and benches were being brought in, for a great fete was in progress of arrangement, which was the reason that D'Argenton was so out of temper on seeing Jack. Charlotte did not appear pleased, but stopped in some of her preparations.

"Is it you, my dear Jack. You come for money, too, I fancy. I forgot it utterly,--that is, I begged Dr. Hirsch to hand it to you. He is going to Aulnettes in two or three days to make some very curious experiments with perfumes. He has made an extraordinary discovery."

They were talking in the centre of the room; a half dozen workmen were going to and fro, driving nails, and moving the furniture.

"I wish to speak seriously," said Jack.

"What! now? You know that serious conversation is not my forte; and to-day all is in confusion. We have sent out five hundred invitations, it will be superb! Come here, then, if it is absolutely necessary.

I have arranged a veranda for smoking. Come and see if it is not convenient?"

She went with him into a veranda covered with striped cotton, furnished with a sofa and jardiniere, but rather dismal-looking with the rain pattering on the zinc roof.

Jack said to himself, "I had better have written," and did not know what to say first.

"Well?" said Charlotte, leaning her chin on her hand in that graceful att.i.tude that some women adopt when they listen. He hesitated a moment, as one hesitates in placing a heavy load upon an etagere of trifles, for that which he had to say seemed too much for that pretty little head that leaned toward him.

"I should like--I should like to talk to you of my father," he said, with some hesitation.

On the end of her tongue she had the words, "What folly!" If she did not utter them, the expression of her face, in which were to be read amazement and fear, spoke for her.

"It is too sad for us, my child, to discuss. But still, painful as it is to me, I understand your feelings, and am ready to gratify you.

Besides," she added, solemnly, "I have always intended, when you were twenty, to reveal to you the secret of your birth."

It was time now for him to look astonished. Had she forgotten that three months previous she had made this disclosure. Nevertheless, he uttered no protest, he wished to compare her story of to-day with an older narration. How well he knew her!

"Is it true that my father was n.o.ble?" he asked, suddenly.

"Indeed he was, my child."

"a marquis?"

"No, only a baron."

"But I supposed--in fact, you told me--"

"No, no--it was the elder branch of the Bulac family that was n.o.ble."

"He was connected then with the Bulac family?"

"Most a.s.suredly. He was the head of the younger branch."

"And his name was--"

"The Baron de Bulac--a lieutenant in the navy."

Jack felt dizzy, and had only strength to ask, "How long since he died?"

"O, years and years!" said Charlotte, hurriedly.

That his father was dead he was sure; but had his mother told him a falsehood now, or on the previous occasion? Was he a De Bulac or a L'Epau?

"You are looking ill, child," said Charlotte, interrupting herself in the midst of a long romance she was telling, "your hands are like ice."

"Never mind, I shall get warm with exercise," answered Jack, with difficulty.

"Are you going so soon? Well, it is best that you should get back before it is late." She kissed him tenderly, tied a handkerchief around his throat, and slipped some money into his pocket. She fancied that his silence and sadness came from seeing all the preparations for a fete in which he was to have no share, and when her maid summoned her for the waiting coiffeur, she said good-bye hurriedly.

"You see I must leave you; write often, and take good care of yourself."

He went slowly down the steps, with his face turned toward his mother all the time. He was sad at heart, but not by reason of this fete from which he was excluded, but at the thought of all the happiness in life from which he had been always shut out. He thought of the children who could love and respect their parents, who had a name, a fireside, and a family. He remembered, too, that his unhappy fate would prevent him from asking any woman to share his life. He was wretched without realizing that to regret these joys was in fact to be worthy of them, and that it was only the fall perception of the sad truths of his destiny that would impart the strength to cope with them.

Wrapped in these dismal meditations, he had reached the Lyons station, a spot where the mud seems deeper, and the fog thicker, than elsewhere.

It was just the hour that the manufactories closed. A tired crowd, overwhelmed by discouragement and distress, hurried through the streets, going at once to the wine-shops, some of which had as a sign the one word _Consolation_, as if drunkenness and forgetfulness were the sole refuge for the wretched. Jack, feeling that darkness had settled down on his life as absolutely as it had on this cold autumnal night, uttered an exclamation of despair.

"They are right; what is there left to do but to drink?" and entering one of those miserable drink-ing-shops, Jack called for a double measure of brandy. Just as he lifted his gla.s.s, amid the din of coa.r.s.e voices, and through the thick smoke, he heard a flute-like voice,--

"Do you drink brandy, Jack?"

No, he did not drink it, nor would he ever touch it again. He left the shop abruptly, leaving his gla.s.s untouched and the money on the counter.

How Jack had a sharp illness of some weeks' duration after this long walk; how Dr. Hirsch experimented upon him until routed by Dr. Rivals, who carried the youth to his own house and nursed him again to health, is too long a story. We prefer also to introduce our readers to Jack seated in a comfortable arm-chair, reading at the window of the doctor's office. It was peaceful about him, a peace that came from the sunny sky, the silent house, and the gentle footfall of Cecile.

He was so happy that he rarely spoke, and contented himself with watching the movements of the dear presence that pervaded the simple home. She sewed and kept her grandfather's accounts.

"I am sure," she said, looking up from her book, "that the dear man forgets half his visits. Did you notice what he said yesterday, Jack?"

"Mademoiselle!" he answered, with a start.

He had not heard one word, although he had been watching her with all his eyes. If Cecile said, "My friend," it seemed to Jack that no other person had ever so called him; and when she said farewell, or good-night, his heart contracted as if he were never to see her again.

Her slightest words were full of meaning, and her simple, unaffected ways were a delight to the youth. In his state of convalescence he was more susceptible to these influences than he would ordinarily have been.

O, the delicious days he spent in that blessed home! The office, a large, deserted room, with white curtains at the windows opening on a village street, communicated to him its healthful calm. The room was filled with the odors of plants culled in the splendor of their flowering, and he drank it in with delight.

In the scent of the balsam he heard the rushing of the clear brooks in the forest, and the woods were green and shady, when he caught the odor of the herbs gathered from the foot of the tall oaks.

With returning strength Jack tried to read; he turned over the old volumes, and found those in which he had studied so long before, and which he could now far better comprehend. The doctor was out nearly all day, and the two young people remained alone. This would have horrified many a prudent mother, and, of course, had Madame Rivals been living, it would not have been permitted; but the doctor was a child himself, and then, who knows? he may have had his own plans.

Meanwhile D'Argenton, informed of Jack's removal to the Rivals, saw fit to take great offence. "It is not at all proper," wrote Charlotte, "that you should remain there. People will think us unwilling to give you the care you need? You place us in a false position."

This letter failing to produce any effect, the poet wrote himself:--"I sent Hirsch to cure you, but you preferred a country idiot to the science of our friend! As you call yourself better, I give you now two days to return to Aulnettes. If you are not there at the expiration of that time, I shall consider that you have been guilty of flagrant disobedience, and from that moment all is over between us."