longer as an equal, but as
the butt for all the teachers. No more dainties, no more wine for him.
There were constant allusions made to D'Argenton: he was selfish and
vain, a man totally without genius; as to his noble birth, it was more
than doubtful; the chateau in the mountains, of which he discoursed so
fluently, existed only in his imagination. These fierce attacks on the
man whom he detested, amused the child; but something prevented him
from joining in the servile applause of the other children, who eagerly
laughed at each one of Moronval's witticisms. The fact was, that Jack
dreaded the veiled allusions to his mother with which these remarks
invariably terminated. He, to be sure, rarely caught their full meaning,
but he saw by the contemptuous laughter that they were far from kindly.
Madame Moronval would sometimes interrupt the conversation by a friendly
word to Jack, or by sending him on some trifling errand. During his
absence, she administered a reproof to her husband and his friends.

"Pshaw!" said Labassandre, "he does not understand." Perhaps he did not
fully, but he comprehended enough to make his heart very sore.

He had known for a long time that he had a father whose name was not the
same as his own, that his mother had no husband; and, one day, when one
of the schoolboys made some taunting allusion, he flew at him in a rage.
The boy was nearly choked; his cries summoned Moronval to the scene, and
Jack for the first time was severely flogged.

From that day the charm was broken, and Jack's daily life did not
greatly differ from that of Madou, who was at this time very unhappy.
The pleasant weather, and the day at the _Jardin d'Aclimation_, had
given him a terrible fit of homesickness. His melancholy at first took
the form of a sullen revolt against his exacting masters. Suddenly all
this was changed, the boy's eyes grew bright, and he seemed to go about
the house and the garden as if in a dream.

One night the black boy was undressing, and Jack heard him singing to
himself in a language that was strange.

"What are you singing, Madou?"

"I am not singing, sir; I'm talking negro talk!" and Madou confided to
his friend his intention of running away from school. He had thought of
it for some time, and was only waiting for pleasant weather; and now he
meant to go to Dahomey, and find Kerika. If Jack would go with him,
they would go to Marseilles on foot, and then go on board some vessel.
Nothing cou