And she fell back on her pillow broken-hearted.
CHAPTER XXIX.
SIX months after, the Countess de Algar was in her saloon with the marchioness, her mother, occupied in putting a ribbon on her son’s straw hat, when General Santa-Maria entered.
“See, general, how well a straw hat becomes a boy at that age.”
“You spoil this child.”
“What matters it?” said the marchioness. “Do not we all spoil our children, who nevertheless become serious men? Our mother spoilt you also, my brother, and that did not prevent you from becoming what you are.”
“Mamma,” said the child, “wilt thou give me a biscuit?”
“What is this?” cried the general. “Your child tutear’s you? You adopt then, after the French fashion, this te and tu, which corrupts our manners. The grandees of Spain formerly obliged their children to call them ‘excellency.’ It was in the good old time. The tutear, in imitation of the French tutoies, makes children lose the respect they owe to their parents.”
“Eh! general—this innocent creature! Can he distinguish between thou and you?”
“It is taught him.”