ure to sun and rain and piercing
mistral, Jean throve exceedingly, and, to Aristide's delight, began to
cut another tooth. The vain man began to regard himself as an expert in
denticulture.

At the end of a fairly-wide circuit, Aristide, with empty store-boxes
and pleasantly-full pockets, arrived at the little town of
Aix-en-Provence. He had arrived there not without difficulty. On the
outskirts the car, which had been coaxed reluctantly along for many
weary kilometres, had groaned, rattled, whirred, given a couple of
convulsive leaps, and stood stock-still. This was one of her pretty
ways. He was used to them, and hitherto he had been able to wheedle
her into resumed motion. But this time, with all his cunning and
perspiration, he could not induce another throb in the tired engines.
A friendly motorist towed them to the Hotel de Paris in the Cours
Mirabeau. Having arranged for his room and given Jean in charge of the
landlady, he procured some helping hands, and pushed the car to the
nearest garage. There he gave orders for the car to be put into running
condition for the following morning, and returned to the hotel.

He found Jean in the vestibule, sprawling sultanesquely on the
landlady's lap, the centre of an admiring circle which consisted of two
little girls in pigtails, an ancient peasant-woman, and two English
ladies of obvious but graceful spinsterhood.

"Here is the father," said the landlady.

He had already explained Jean to the startled woman--landladies were
always startled at Jean's unconventional advent. "Madame," he had said,
according to rigid formula, "this is my son. I am taking him from his
mother, who is dead, to an aunt who is an invalid, so he is alone on my
hands. I beseech you to let some kind woman attend to his necessities."

There was no need for further explanation. Aristide, thus introduced,
bowed politely, removed his Crusoe cap, and smiled luminously at the
assembled women. They resumed their antiphonal chorus of worship. The
brown, merry, friendly brat had something of Aristide's personal charm.
He had a bubble and a "goo" for everyone. Aristide looked on in great
delight. Jean was a son to be proud of.

"_Ah! qu'il est fort--fort comme un Turc._"

"_Regardez ses dents._"

"The darling thing!"

"_Il est_--oh, dear!--_il est ravissante!_"--with a disastrous plunge
into gender.

"_Tiens! il rit. C'est moi qui le fais rire._"

"To think," said the younger Englishwoman to her