, armchairs, and some large shells on the chimney-piece.

One of the rooms above was nearly filled by a very large bed hung with
damask curtains trimmed with heavy ball fringe. In Zenaide's room the
bed was in the wall, in the old Breton style. A wardrobe of carved oak
filled one side of the room; a crucifix and holy images, hung over
by rosaries of all kinds, made of ivory, shells, and American corn,
completed the simple arrangements. In a corner, however, stood a screen
which concealed the ladder that led to the loft where the apprentice was
to sleep.

"This is my room," said Zenaide, "and you, my boy, will be up there just
over my head. But never mind that; you may dance as much as you please,
I sleep too soundly to be disturbed."

A lantern was given to him. He said good-night, and climbed to his loft,
which even at that hour of the night was stifling. A narrow window in
the roof was all there was. The dormitory at Moronval had prepared
Jack for strange sleeping-places; but there he had companionship in his
miseries: here he had no Madou, here he had nobody. The child looked
about him. On the bed lay his costume for the next day; the large
pantaloons of blue cloth and the blouse looked as if some person had
thrown himself down exhausted with fatigue.

Jack said half aloud, "It is I lying there!" and while he stood, sadly
enough, he heard the confused noise of the men in the garden, and at the
same time an earnest discussion in the room below between Zenaide and
her stepmother.

The young girl's voice was easily distinguished, heavy like a man's;
Madame Rondic's tones, on the contrary, were thin and flute-like, and
seemed at times choked by tears.

"And he is going!" she cried, with more passion than her ordinary
appearance would have led one to suppose her capable of.

Then Zenaide spoke--remonstrating, reasoning.

Jack felt himself in a new world; he was half afraid of all these
people, but the memory of his mother sustained him. He thought of her
as he looked at the sky set thick with stars. Suddenly he heard a long,
shivering sigh and a sob, and found that Madame Rondic was looking out
into the night, and weeping like himself, at a window below.

In the morning, Father Rondic called him; he swallowed a tumbler of wine
and ate a crust of bread, and hurried to the machine-shop. And there,
could his foolish mother have seen him, how quickly would she have taken
her child from his laborious task, for which