atness.

He too had occupied the seat of honor, had drunk of his master's wine,
flavored by the powder from the doctor's bottle; and the tunic, with its
silver chevrons, was it not too large for Jack only because it had been
made for Madou? The story of the little negro should have been a warning
to the small De Barancy against the sin of pride, for the installation
of both boys in the Moronval Academy had been precisely of the same
character.

The holiday instituted in honor of Jack was insensibly prolonged into
weeks. Lessons were few and far between, except from Madame Moronval,
who snatched every opportunity of testing her method.

As to Moronval himself, he professed a great weakness for his new pupil.
He had made inquiries in regard to the little hotel on the Boulevard
Hauss-mann, and had fully acquainted himself with the resources of the
lady there. When, therefore, Madame de Barancy came to see Jack, which
was very often, she met with a warm reception, and had an attentive
audience for all the vain and foolish stories she saw fit to tell. At
first Madame Moronval wished to preserve a certain dignified coolness
toward such a person, but her husband soon changed that idea, and she
saw herself obliged to lay aside her womanly scruples in favor of her
interests.

"Jack! Jack! here comes your mother," some one would cry as the door
opened, and Ida would sail in beautifully dressed, with packages of
cakes and bonbons in her hands and her muff. It was a festival for every
one; they all shared the delicacies, and Madame de Barancy ungloved her
hand, the one on which were the most rings, and condescended to take a
portion. The poor creature was so generous, and money slipped so easily
through her fingers, that she generally brought with her cakes all sorts
of presents, playthings, &c., which she distributed as the fancy struck
her. It is easy to imagine the enthusiastic praises lavished upon this
inconsiderate, reckless generosity. Moronval alone had a smile of pity
and of envy at seeing money so wasted, which should have gone to the
assistance of some brave, generous soul like himself, for example.
This was his fixed idea. And as he sat looking at Ida and gnawing his
finger-nails, he had an absent, anxious air like that of a man who comes
to ask a loan, and has his petition on the end of his lips. Moronval's
dream for some time had been to establish a Review consecrated to
colonial interests, in this way hoping to s