“Poor child,” he murmured sadly; “our paths are not always easy, the stones cut our feet; but fret not for a different condition of life; discontent is a cankerworm which eats the heart. The streets of Paris are narrow and dingy, yet you may learn here to walk the narrow way of life eternal. You grow to be a big boy, Péron; presently, instead of spelling with me, you will begin to learn the lessons of existence. Some of us can have green fields and flowers, but many, my child, have only the flint-paved way, and are shut in by walls as grim as those of the Châtelet. See to it that you crave not that which is another’s; verily, there is no more cruel sin than envy.”
“Why do the rich say rude things to the poor?” asked the boy sharply.
A slow flush crept up to Père Antoine’s temples and his sensitive lips tightened.
“It is the way of the world, Péron,” he said softly, “not God’s way.”
“It is a very mean way!” the child declared promptly; “I will never stand it.”
The priest looked at him in surprise; for some time he had been conscious of the development of a new characteristic in his pupil, but he was not prepared for the fire of the boy’s resentment. He shook his head gravely.
“You must not harbor thoughts of malice, Péron,” he said; “I have labored to teach you the lessons of Christian humility.”
“I do not see why some people are so rich and others so poor,” Péron remarked, unmoved.
“You are not very poor,” Père Antoine replied soothingly, “you have a comfortable shelter, and the care of good Maître Jacques and his wife.”
He was endeavoring to quiet the child, but his words only called forth another question.