“Talk of sending a boy to Paris to learn his trade!” said a provincial oracle.
“M. le Curé, what brings you here, eh?” exclaimed old Séchard, catching sight of the Abbé as soon as he appeared.
“I have come on account of your family,” answered the old man.
“Here is another of my son’s notions!” exclaimed old Séchard.
“It would not cost you much to make everybody happy all round,” said the priest, looking at the windows of the printing-house. Mme. Séchard’s beautiful face appeared at that moment between the curtains; she was hushing her child’s cries by tossing him in her arms and singing to him.
“Are you bringing news of my son?” asked old Séchard, “or what is more to the purpose—money?”
“No,” answered M. Marron, “I am bringing the sister news of her brother.”
“Of Lucien?” cried Petit-Claud.
“Yes. He walked all the way from Paris, poor young man. I found him at the Courtois’ house; he was worn out with misery and fatigue. Oh! he is very much to be pitied.”
Petit-Claud took the tall Cointet by the arm, saying aloud, “If we are going to dine with Mme. de Senonches, it is time to dress.” When they had come away a few paces, he added, for his companion’s benefit, “Catch the cub, and you will soon have the dam; we have David now——”