e bare, I have
nothing to blush for. And there's many a Duchess can't say as
much. As for forsaking the lad for fear of doing him a hurt,
well, the notion is just what I expected of you, Servien; you've
always been a bit simple-minded. _I_ mean to stay all my life
with Jean. No, little lad, you'll never drive your old aunt out
of your house, will you? And who could ever make your bed the
way I can, my lamb?"

Jean promised his father faithfully, oh! most faithfully, he
would lead a hardworking life. Then he shut himself up in his
room and pictured the future to himself--long years of austere
and methodical labour.

He mapped out his days systematically. In the morning he wrote
copies to improve his handwriting, seated at a corner of the
workbench. After breakfast he did sums in his bedroom. Every
evening he went to the _Rue Soufflot_ by way of the Luxembourg
gardens to a private tutor's, and the old man would set him
dictations and explain the rules of simple interest. On reaching
the gate adjoining the _Fontaine Medicis_ the boy always turned
round for a look at the statues of women he could discern
standing like white ghosts along the terrace. He had left behind
on the path of life another fascinating vision.

He never read a theatrical poster now, and deliberately forgot
his favorite poets for fear of renewing his pain.

XII

This new life pleased him; it slipped by with a soothing monotony,
and he found it healthful and to his taste. One evening, as he
was coming downstairs at his old tutor's, a stout man offered
him, with a sweep of the arm, the bill of fare advertising a
neighbouring cook-shop; he carried a huge bundle of them under
his left arm. Then stopping abruptly:

"_Per Bacco!_" cried the fellow; "it is my old pupil. Tall and
straight as a young poplar, here stands Monsieur Jean Servien!"

It was no other than the Marquis Tudesco. His red waistcoat was
gone; instead he wore a sort of sleeved vest of coarse ticking,
but his shining face, with the little round eyes and hooked nose,
still wore the same look of merry, mischievous alertness that
was so like an old parrot's.

Jean was surprised to see him, and not ill-pleased after all.
He greeted him affectionately and asked what he was doing now.

"Behold!" replied the Marquis, "my business is to distribute
in the streets these advertisements of a local poisoner, and
thereby to earn a place at the assassin's table to spread the
fame of whic