“You will drink a glass of wine, Father Archambauld. Drink to the health of my little boy. Is he not nice? Will you take him with you sometimes into the forest?”
And as he drank his wine, this tawny giant, who was the terror of the poachers throughout the country, looked about the room with that restless glance acquired in his nightly watchings in the forest, and answered timidly,—
“That I will, Madame d’Argenton.”
This name of D’Argenton, thus given to his mother, mystified our little friend. But as he had no very accurate idea of either the duties or dignities of life, he soon ceased to take any notice of his mother’s new title, and became absorbed in a rough game of play with the two dogs under the table. The old couple had just gone, when a carriage was heard at the door.
“Is it you, doctor?” cried Ida from within, in joyous greeting,
“Yes, madame; I come to learn something about your sick son, of whose arrival I have heard.”
Jack looked inquisitively at the large, kindly face crowned by snowy locks. The doctor wore a coat down to his heels, and had a rolling walk, the result of twenty years of sea-life as a surgeon.
“Your boy is all right, madame. I was afraid, from what I heard through my servant, that he and you might require my services.”
What good people these all were, and how thankful little Jack felt that he had forever left that detestable school!
When the doctor left, the house was bolted and barred, and the mother and child went tranquilly to their bedroom.