"My little friend!" said the child with a sneer.
He looked at the fire on the hearth, and at the rough table and benches. Then he said, "Your house is a very poor place, I think."
"I am sorry if you do not like it," said Jacquot. "But if I had not helped you, you would have been in a worse place."
"How did these clothes come on me?" cried the child. "They are not mine. You have stolen my clothes and have given me these ugly things."
"Stolen!" said the charcoal man, angrily. "What do you mean, you ungrateful little rascal?"
"Hush, Jacquot," said his wife, kindly. "He doesn't know what he says.
Wait till he rests a while, and then he'll be in a better humor."
The child was indeed very tired. His eyes closed and he was soon fast asleep.
"Now tell us, father," whispered Charlot, "where did you find him?"
The charcoal man sat down by the fire. The two boys stood at his knees, and his wife sat at his side.
"I will tell you," he said. "I had carried some charcoal to the queen's kitchen and was just starting home. I took the shortest way through the little park behind the palace. You know where the fountain is?"