drew a long breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to explain away his interest.
For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor.
"Is this your father?" asked Desprez.
"Oh, no," returned the boy; "my master."
"Are you fond of him?" continued the Doctor.
"No, sir," said the boy.
Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances.
"That is bad, my man," resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness. "Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched with some affection."
The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting.
"You did not know him," he replied at last. "He was a bad man."
"He is a little pagan," said the landlady. "For
