And he sighed.
"What did my son say?" asked the old woman.
"Nothing, ma mere. Ah le bon temp que ce triste jour!" he murmured.
The old woman's head drooped.
"My son does not speak with a straight tongue," she said; "his words are crooked."
"Non non" said Verty, smiling; "but I am a little unwell, ma mere. All the way coming along, I felt my breast weighed down—my heart was oppressed. Look! even Longears knows I'm not the Verty of the old time."
Longears, who was standing at the door in a contemplative attitude, fancied that his master called him, and, coming up, licked Verty's hand affectionately.
"Good Longears!" said. Verty, caressing him, "lie down at my feet."
Longears obeyed with much dignity, and was soon basking in the sunlight before the door.
"Now, ma mere" Verty said, with his habitual smile, "we have been calling for the clouds to come up, and shut out the sun; let us call for the sunlight next. You know I am your Verty, and every day as I grow, I get able to do more for you. I shall, some day, make a number of pistoles—who knows?—and then think how much I could buy for you. Good mother!—happy Verty!"