know what I can do for you. There's no place for you in my own household."
The young man was silent a moment. "Has M. le Baron any children?" he asked, after a pause.
"I have my son whom you see here."
"May I inquire if M. le Chevalier is supplied with a preceptor?"
My father glanced down at me. "Indeed, he seems to be," he cried. "What have you got there?" And he took my book. "The little rascal has M. Scarron for a teacher. This is his preceptor!"
I blushed very hard, and the young man smiled. "Is that your only teacher?" he asked.
"My aunt taught me to read," I said, looking round at her.
"And did your aunt recommend this book?" asked my father.
"My aunt gave me M. Plutarque," I said.
My father burst out laughing, and the young man put his hat up to his mouth. But I could
