"And my aunt?"
"She is also dead!"
"And my sister?" pursued the relentless voice.
"She is alive and safe here in the Tower!" For a moment the blow seemed too stupendous. The stricken child sat almost stunned. Then the catechism recommenced.
"How long has my mother been dead?"
"And my aunt?"
"Just one year!"
"And they never told me?"
"They did not have the heart!" said Jean gently. This reply broke the ice of the little fellow's grief. Tears came to his relief, and he threw himself on the bed sobbing quietly. The struggle was long and severe, and Jean left him to the sacredness of his sorrow unmolested. When the storm of sobs grew less and the tears had ceased, Jean took him in his big, brawny arms and comforted him almost as one would a tired baby. Then to divert his thoughts for a while, he told him all his experiences on the night of his first visit to the Brotherhood of Liberation, for this he had been permitted to do if he chose. The child's interest was at first languid, but gradually grew intense as the tale advanced. When Jean recounted how he had been branded and sworn into the circle, Louis took in his own hands the branded palm of the older boy.