"Seventeen shillings and fourpence—no, fivepence," announced M. de Soucy. "I am afraid, Anne . . ."
M. le Comte drew a long breath. The muscles pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"It is not enough?" he inquired rather quaveringly.
"Not nearly. Anne, you are a soldier's son, and you must learn to bear disappointment—worse things perhaps. We cannot help your father in that way." Again M. de Soucy struggled with something in his speech. "I do not know, Anne, how we can help him."
It was, fortunately, not given to the Comte de Flavigny to read his friend's mind, but he perceived sufficiently from his manner that something was not right. He reflected a moment, and then, remembering the celestial intervention of the afternoon, said:
"Perhaps I had better ask la Très-Sainte Vierge to take care of him. I do ask her every day, but I mean especially."
"You could ask her," said de Soucy, bitter pain in his eyes.
"You have no picture of our Lady, no statue?"
"Not one."
"It does not matter," said the little boy. "Elspeth sometimes takes away my image of her too. They do not know her over here, but that," he added, with his courteous desire to excuse, "is because she is French. . . . M. le Vicomte, I think that after all I had better ask St. Michel, because he is a soldier. It would be more fitting for him, do you not think? Yes, I will pray St. Michel to take great care of my Papa, and then I shall not mind that the money is not enough and that I cannot go to France to see him."