“Aweary—awe-e-e-ary!” repeated the little things, standing before him in infantile nude rotundity, looking up with bright eyes.
“Aweary—that is it. Good night, Epaminondas—good night, Xantippe! Give ye good hap, most stout Nestorius!”
He stooped and gravely shook hands with each one in turn, and, after forcing a like ceremonial upon Guy Oscard, they reluctantly withdrew.
“They have not joined us, I suppose?” said Oscard, as he followed his companion into the house.
“Not yet. They live in this place. Nestorius, I understand, takes care of his mother, who, in her turn, takes care of this house. He is one and a half.”
Guy Oscard seemed to have inherited the mind inquisitive from his learned father. He asked another question later on.
“Who is that woman?” he said during dinner, with a little nod towards the doorway, through which the object of his curiosity had passed with some plates.
“That is the mother of the stout Nestorius,” answered Jack—“Durnovo's housekeeper.”
He spoke quietly, looking straight in front of him; and Joseph, who was drawing a cork at the back of the room, was watching his face.
There was a little pause, during which Durnovo drank slowly. Then Guy Oscard spoke again.