“Come often, then, little one,” he said. “Come very often; and when we are tired of pictures and microscopes, we will sit upon the floor, and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings.”
Then, seeing my look puzzled, he laughed and added:—
“'Tis a great English poet says that, Gretchen, in one of his plays.”
Here a shrill trumpet-call in the court-yard, followed by the prolonged roll of many drums, warned me that evening parade was called, and that as soon as it was over my father would be home and looking for me. So I started up, and put out my hand to say good-bye.
Monsieur Maurice took it between both his own.
“I don't like parting from you so soon, little Mädchen,” he said. “Will you come again to-morrow?”
“Every day, if you like!” I replied eagerly.
“Then every day it shall be; and—let me see—you shall improve my bad German, and I will teach you French.”
I could have clapped my hands for joy. I was longing to learn French, and I knew how much it would also please my father; so I thanked Monsieur Maurice again and again, and ran home with a light heart to tell of all the wonders I had seen.