Scarcely had we got upstairs than they all crowded round me. Lise clung to me, crying. Then I knew, that in spite of their grief at parting from one another, it was of me that they thought; they pitied me because I was alone. I felt, indeed, then that I was their brother. Suddenly an idea came to me.
"Listen," I said; "even if your aunts and uncles don't want me, I can see that you consider me one of the family."
"Yes, yes," they all cried.
Lise, who could not speak, just squeezed my hand and looked up at me with her big, beautiful eyes.
"Well, I'm a brother, and I'll prove it," I said stoutly.
"There's a job with Pernuit; shall I go over and speak to him to-morrow?" asked Etiennette.
"I don't want a job. If I take a job I shall have to stay in Paris, and I shan't see you again. I'm going to put on my sheepskin and take my harp, and go first to one place and then to another where you are all going to live. I shall see you all one after the other, and I'll carry the news from one to the other, so you'll all be in touch. I haven't forgotten my songs nor my dance music, and I'll get enough money to live."
Every face beamed. I was glad they were so pleased with my idea. For a long time we talked, then Etiennette made each one go to bed, but no one slept much that night, I least of all. The next day at daybreak Lise took me into the garden.
"You want to speak to me?" I asked.
She nodded her head.