He blew a blast, at which Raoul clapped his hands and struggled. But the mother held him fast.
“Raoul will not run away again?”
“It was all that dolt Jean’s fault,” Léon put in once more. “Jean, hasn’t madame fifty times told you not to lose sight of Monsieur Raoul? Answer! Come, yes, or no? But she has, for I have heard her myself, and you are abominably careless.”
“Ah, but—monsieur knows,” stammered Jean, “that—that Madame de Beaudrillart—”
“My mother? Well?”
“Monsieur knows she said that if I let him cry I should be punished, and Mademoiselle Claire said I was never to leave the pony, and—”
The young man burst into a laugh.
“Conflicting orders, eh, Nathalie? Well, you should have managed somehow. And look here, understand from me that it is Madame Léon who is your mistress, and that you are always to do what she tells you. You comprehend?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said Jean, in a doubtful tone.
“Good! then now take Monsieur Raoul to the house, and find his bonne or somebody. We have had quite enough of this. My fishing spoiled and all! Not that I was doing much good. Come, Nathalie, the least you can do to make up is to come back with me after my rod. Let that baby go; he is not the person to scold.”