ression of absolute indifference. His black hands, tightly clenched,
lay on the outside of the bedclothes. There was a look of a sick animal
in his whole attitude, and in the manner in which he turned his face
toward the wall, as if an invisible road was open to his eyes through
the white stones, and every chink in the wall had become a brilliant
outlook toward a country known to him alone.

Jack whispered, "It is I, Madou,--little Jack."

The child looked at him vacantly; he no longer understood the French
language. In his fever, all recollection of it had vanished. Instinct
had effaced all that art had inculcated, and Madou understood and
spoke nothing save his savage dialect. At this moment, another of "the
children of the sun," Said, encouraged by Jack's example, followed him
into the sick-room, but, startled and disturbed by the strange scene,
retreated to the doorway, and stood with affrighted eyes.

Madou drew one long, shivering sigh.

"He is going to sleep, I think," whispered Said, shivering with terror;
for, older than Jack, he intuitively felt the cold blast from the wings
of Death, which already fanned the brow of the sick boy.

"Let us go," said Jack, pale and troubled; and they hastily ran down the
garden-walk, leaving their comrade alone in the twilight. Night came
on. In that silent room, which the children had left, the fire crackled
cheerfully, burning brightly, and illuminating every corner as if in
search of something that was hidden. The light flickered on the ceiling
and was reflected on every small window-pane, glanced over the little
bed, and brought out the color of Madou's red sleeve, until tired
apparently of its fruitless search, discouraged and exhausted, and
convinced that its heat was useless, for no one was there to warm. The
fire gave one last expiring flicker, and then, like the poor little
half-frozen king, who had so loved it, sank into eternal rest.

Poor Madou! The irony of destiny pursued him even after death, for
Moronval hesitated whether the interment should be that of a royal
prince or of a servant. On one side there were reasons of economy; on
the other, vanity and policy had a word to say. After much indecision,
Moronval decided to strike a great blow, thinking that, perhaps, as he
had not profited much by the prince living, he might gain something
from him dead. So a pompous funeral was arranged. All the daily papers
published a biography of the little king of Dahomey.