"I'm willing; I'm quite willing," said Fergus. "Where does the Comte St. Juste live?"
"At a place called Arles in France. There's the old château still standing and I'm told they are terribly poor, but the child belongs to them as much as to you. I hear they are greedy, too; they may want a hit of money to give her up."
"John Mansfield," said Fergus, "if you lend me fifty pounds you and I might go together to see the Comte St. Juste and I'll pay it back to you as sure as I am a Desmond of Desmondstown when I return home again. Let us start at once, my good sir. You'll help me to get the little one for my father."
"I got my quarter's income yesterday," said John Mansfield. "I must keep some of it to live on, but I can let you have thirty pounds. I didn't know when I sent my little treasure to Desmondstown that it would come to this. You must do with thirty pounds, Fergus Desmond, I can't spare any more."
"I'll do with thirty pounds," said Desmond.
"Very well; we'll start for London to-night. This is the room where she and I were so happy together. Here is the little shelf where she kept her Latin and Greek books."
"My good gracious, you didn't teach her the dead languages?" said Fergus.
"I did, for certain. She was the aptest little pupil you could find in your march through life."
"I'll have her taught fine," said Fergus, "but you are a good—very good man, Mansfield."
"Don't say that again," replied Mansfield. "The heart knoweth its own wickedness and its own sorrows. I can't explain what I feel and if I could, I wouldn't. I'll be ready to accompany you this very evening, Mr. Desmond."