ic and you'll be happy. You see, my little son Asticot, to
what depths I have descended in that I can be the Apostle of the
Platitudinous."

He leaned forward, chin on knuckles, and his beard again stuck out
horizontally. Happy people passed us by. For many the work of the day
was already over and they had the lingering magic of the sunshine for
their own. A young blue-bloused workman and a girl hanging on his arm
brushed close by our seat.

"_Si, nous aurons des enfants, et de beaux enfants_," she cried.

"I hope they will," said Paragot, looking at them wistfully. Then after
a pause: "Has the Comtesse de Verneuil any children?"

"No, Master," said I in a tone of conviction. It struck me later that I
had spoken from blank ignorance. But at the moment the question seemed
preposterous. In many ways I had still the unreasoning instincts of a
child. Because I had never contemplated my dear lady Joanna in the light
of a mother, I unhesitatingly proclaimed her childless. As a matter of
fact I was right.

Paragot, satisfied with my reply, watched the endless stream of cheerful
folk. Once he quoted to himself:--

"'The golden foot of May is on the flowers'--and on the heads of all but
me."

Suddenly he sat back and seized me by the arm.

"Asticot, you are a man now, and you must see things with the eyes of a
man. I have loved you like my son--if you should turn away, thinking
evil things of me, like someone else, it would break my heart. Neither
she nor you ought to have seen that accursed paper. You and Blanquette
and the dog are all I have in the world to care for, and I want you all
to think well of me."

Then the tears did spring into my eyes, for my beloved master's appeal
went home to that which was truest and best in me. I stammered out
something, I know not what; but it came from my heart. It pleased him.
He jumped to his feet in his old impetuous way.

"Bravo, _petit Asticot de mon coeur_! The nightmare is over, and we
can enjoy the sunshine again. We will drag Blanquette from the Rue des
Saladiers which does not lay itself out for jollity, and we will dine at
a reckless restaurant. Blanquette shall eat the snails which she adores
and I shall eat pig's feet and you an underdone beefsteak to nourish
your little body. And we shall all eat with our dinner '_le pain benit
de la gaite_.'"

He strode off eager as usual to put his idea into immediate execution.
He talked all the way to the Rue des Saladiers. Po