One evening, while Mlle. de Bergerac was still away, I sat in his window, committing my lesson for the morrow by the waning light. He was walking up and down among the shadows. "Chevalier," said he, suddenly, "what should you do if I were to leave you?"
My poor little heart stood still. "Leave me?" I cried, aghast; "why should you leave me?"
"Why, you know I didn't come to stay forever."
"But you came to stay till I'm a man grown. Don't you like your place?"
"Perfectly."
"Don't you like my father?"
"Your father is excellent."
"And my mother?"
"Your mother is perfect."
"And me, Coquelin?"