er, is not grave." He caught the boy looking at him in obvious
wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. "Hullo!" said he, "why do you look at
me like that? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do you despise me,
boy?"

"Oh, no," replied Jean-Marie seriously; "only I do not understand."

"You must excuse me, sir," returned the Doctor, with gravity; "I am still
so young. Oh, hang him!" he added to himself. And he took his seat again
and observed the boy sardonically. "He has spoiled the quiet of my
morning," thought he. "I shall be nervous all day, and have a febricule
when I digest. Let me compose myself." And so he dismissed his
preoccupations by an effort of the will which he had long practised, and
let his soul roam abroad in the contemplation of the morning. He inhaled
the air, tasting it critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and
prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little
flecks of cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the birds
round the church tower--making long sweeps, hanging poised, or turning
airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the wind with imaginary pinions.
And in this way he regained peace of mind and animal composure, conscious
of his limbs, conscious of the sight of his eyes, conscious that the air
had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the top of his throat; and at last, in
complete abstraction, he began to sing. The Doctor had but one
air--"Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre"; even with that he was on terms of
mere politeness; and his musical exploits were always reserved for
moments when he was alone and entirely happy.

He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy's face.
"What do you think of my singing?" he inquired, stopping in the middle of
a note; and then, after he had waited some little while and received no
answer, "What do you think of my singing?" he repeated imperiously.

"I do not like it," faltered Jean-Marie.

"Oh, come!" cried the Doctor. "Possibly you are a performer yourself?"

"I sing better than that," replied the boy.

The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware that
he was angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which made him
angrier. "If this is how you address your master!" he said at last, with
a shrug and a flourish of his arms.

"I do not speak to him at all," returned the boy. "I do not like him."

"Then you like me?" snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness.

"I do not know,