afternoon, and ask for me by this name."

He dropped his card and a couple of francs into Lolo's hand, and went
his way. Lolo, with Moufflou scampering after him, dashed into his own
house, and stumped up the stairs, his crutch making a terrible noise on
the stone.

"Mother, mother! see what I have got because Moufflou did his tricks,"
he shouted. "And now you can buy those shoes you want so much, and the
coffee that you miss so of a morning, and the new linen for Tasso, and
the shirts for Sandro."

For to the mind of Lolo two francs was as two millions,--source
unfathomable of riches inexhaustible!

With the afternoon he and Moufflou trotted down the arcades of the
Uffizi and down the Lung' Arno to the hotel of the stranger, and,
showing the stranger's card, which Lolo could not read, they were shown
at once into a great chamber, all gilding and fresco and velvet
furniture.

But Lolo, being a little Florentine, was never troubled by externals, or
daunted by mere sofas and chairs: he stood and looked around him with
perfect composure; and Moufflou, whose attitude, when he was not
romping, was always one of magisterial gravity, sat on his haunches and
did the same.

Soon the foreigner he had seen in the forenoon entered and spoke to him,
and led him into another chamber, where stretched on a couch was a
little wan-faced boy about seven years old; a pretty boy, but so pallid,
so wasted, so helpless. This poor little boy was heir to a great name
and a great fortune, but all the science in the world could not make him
strong enough to run about among the daisies, or able to draw a single
breath without pain. A feeble smile lit up his face as he saw Moufflou
and Lolo; then a shadow chased it away.

"Little boy is lame like me," he said, in a tongue Lolo did not
understand.

"Yes, but he is a strong little boy, and can move about, as perhaps the
suns of his country will make you do," said the gentleman, who was the
poor little boy's father. "He has brought you his poodle to amuse you.
What a handsome dog! is it not?"

"Oh, _buffins_!" said the poor little fellow, stretching out his wasted
hands to Moufflou, who submitted his leonine crest to the caress.

Then Lolo went through the performance, and Moufflou acquitted himself
ably as ever; and the little invalid laughed and shouted with his tiny
thin voice, and enjoyed it all immensely, and rained cakes and biscuits
on both the poodle and its master. Lolo crumped