He was in a state of great excitement. As much from the desire to flatter the master, as from the love of noise that characterizes boys, the children hailed this news with a wild hurrah. Jack did not speak, but sighed as he said to himself, “Poor Mâdou!”
Mâdou had been, in fact, at the station-house since the evening before. It was there, amid criminals of all grades, that the presumptive heir of the kingdom of Dahomey was found by his excellent tutor.
“Ah, my unfortunate child! have I found you at last?”
The worthy Moronval could say no more; and, on seeing him throw his long arms eagerly about the neck of the little black boy, the inspector of police could not help thinking: “At last I have seen one teacher who loves his pupils!” Mâdou, however, displayed the utmost indifference. His face was positively without expression; not a ray of shame or of apprehension was visible. His eyes were wide open, but he seemed to see nothing; his face was pale—and the pallor of a negro is something appalling. He was covered with mud from head to foot, and looked like some amphibious animal who, after swimming in the water, had rolled in the mud on the shore. No hat, and no shoes. What had happened to him? He alone could have told you, and he would not speak. The policeman said, that, making his rounds the evening before, he had found the boy hidden in a lime-kiln, that he was half-starved, and stupefied by the excessive heat. Why had he lingered in Paris?
This question Moronval did not ask; nor, indeed, did he speak one word to Mâdou during their long drive to the academy. The boy was so worn out and crushed that he sank into a corner, while Moronval glanced at him occasionally with an expression of rage that at any other time would have terrified him.
Moronval’s glance was like a keen rapier, with a flash like lightning, crossing a poor little broken blade, shivered and rusty.
When Jack saw the pitiful black face, the rags and the dirt, he could hardly recognize the little king. Mâdou, as he passed, said good morning in so mournful a tone that Jack’s eyes filled with tears. The children saw nothing more of the black boy that day. Recitations went on in their usual routine, and at intervals the sound of a lash was heard, and heavy groans from Moronval’s private study. Madame Moronval turned pale, and the book she held trembled. Even when all was again silent, Jack fancied that he still heard the groans.
At dinner the principal was radiant, though seemingly exhausted by fatigue. “The little wretch!” he said to Dr. Hirsch and his wife. “The little wretch! Just, see the state he has put me into!”
That night Jack found the bed next to his occupied. Poor Mâdou had put his master into such a state that he himself had not been able to go to bed without assistance. Madame Moronval and Dr. Hirsch were there watching the lad, whose sleep was broken by those heavy sighs and sobs common to children after a day of painful excitement.
“Then, Dr. Hirsch, you don’t think him ill?” asked Madame Moronval, anxiously.