"I beg your pardon; we also love people because we can be useful to them; we become attached to them because they have need of us, and it is on this account that we are fond of children. We are interested in what they do, from the hope we entertain of teaching them to do well: we love them, notwithstanding their faults, because we believe that we possess the power of correcting those faults; but the moment you deprive me of all influence over your conduct, the moment I become useless to you, what interest can I have in troubling myself about you?"
"But we have passed many years together. You have seen me every day."
"If we are to become attached to a child, merely from seeing him every day, why am I not equally attached to Henry, the porter's son, who waits upon us? I have seen him for as long a time; he has never refused to do anything I asked him: he has given me no annoyance; I always find him in good humour; he renders me a thousand services, and is far more useful to me than you can be."
"Nevertheless, it would be rather strange if you liked Henry better than me."
"If up to the present time I have liked you better than him, it is because, as you were confided to my care, the submission you were obliged to render me gave you the desire of pleasing me, and this made you deserve my friendship; and because also, as your interests were confided to me, I acted for you as I would have acted for myself, and even with more zeal than I could have felt in my own case. But now that you have undertaken to think for yourself, I have nothing more to do but to think for myself."
Armand had nothing to reply; he thought to himself that the way to force those on whom he was dependent to have as much affection for him, as when he was under their authority, was to conduct himself as well, as if he were still obliged to obey them, and he determined to adopt this method. But Armand did not yet possess either sufficient sense, or sufficient firmness of character, to adhere to such resolutions, and it was precisely this which rendered it necessary for him to be guided and controlled by the will of others; left to himself, he was not as yet capable of meriting their affection.
Many children will, doubtless, be astonished, that Armand did not profit by his liberty to throw aside his studies, run about alone, and do a thousand absurdities; but Armand had been well brought up, and his disposition was good, notwithstanding the caprices which occasionally passed through his brain; and at thirteen years of age, though children have not always sufficient strength to do what is right, they begin, at least, to know what is right, and to desire to be regarded as rational beings; and, besides, notwithstanding all his fine arguments, he had acquired the habit of obedience, and would have found it very difficult to oppose directly, any command of his father or tutor, in such a way that it might come to their knowledge. However, the following morning, he thought his liberty might surely extend so far as to send and buy a rasher of ham for his breakfast, a thing of which he was very fond, but which he was very rarely allowed to have. He wanted to send Henry for it; but Henry, who at that moment had something else to do, said that he could not go. He was usually rather insolent to Armand, who, on his part, often became excessively angry with him, because he did not obey him as readily as M. de Saint Marsin or the Abbé Durand. On the present occasion, elated by the new importance which he thought he had acquired, he assumed a more imperious tone, and expressed his anger more loudly than usual, but this only increased Henry's ridicule. He even affected to lecture Armand, saying that M. de Saint Marsin did not allow him to send out of the house for anything, and reminded him that he had been already scolded for that very thing.
"What does that matter to you," said Armand, still more angrily, "have I not a right to send you where I please?"
"No, my son," replied M. de Saint Marsin, who happened to be passing at the moment, "Henry is not under your orders, but under mine."
"But, papa, do you not wish him to wait upon me?"