A smile flitted over Eugene’s weary, dirty face. “A human being could have done no more for me this morning than the king did,” he said simply.
CHAPTER IX.
MONSIEUR LE CURÉ ARRIVES.
The sergeant usually spent his evenings at home. All day long he was on his feet, and it was a pleasure to him when he came in at night to settle himself in a comfortable armchair, after he had his supper, and devote himself to some interesting book until bedtime.
He often read aloud to his wife, who sat and sewed beside him; and one evening, after he had been reading for some time, he laid his book face downward on the small table before him, and said, “Where is the boy?”
Mrs. Hardy dropped her work, and moved aside the lamp that partly hid her husband’s face from her. “He is in his room,” she said.
“He usually listens to me,” said the sergeant; “he isn’t moping, is he, or offended at anything?”
“Oh, no! he never does that now,” laughed Mrs. Hardy. “He is as cheerful as possible.”