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GABRIELLE DE BERGERAC
"Don't you like my father?"
"Your father is excellent."
"And my mother?"
"Your mother is perfect."
"And me, Coquelin?"
"You, Chevalier, are a little goose."
And then, from a sort of unreasoned instinct that Mlle. de Bergerac was somehow connected with his idea of going away, "And my aunt?" I added.
"How, your aunt?"
"Don't you like her?"
Coquelin had stopped in his walk, and stood near me and above me. He looked at me some moments without answering, and then sat down beside me in the window-seat, and laid his hand on my head.
"Chevalier," he said, "I will tell you some thing."
"Well?" said I, after I had waited some time.
"One of these days you will be a man grown, and I shall have left you long before that.
