Hermann threw back his head, and opened his great mouth and laughed at this.
“And I am not the least afraid of you,” continued Toni, “and that is very queer, because I am so afraid of people, except Paul Verney.”
“And shall I tell you,” said Hermann, laughing and twisting his hands in the boy’s shock of black hair, “what I think you are like? A monkey—except that you have not sense enough to learn to dance, as a monkey does.”
Toni was delighted at this. Then he said quite gravely:
“Do you know, Monsieur Hermann, of any business a boy can learn that will give him all he wants to eat, and plenty of time to amuse himself, and not make him work, and support him?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hermann. “Marry a young lady with a large fortune. That gives a man enough to do, but yet it is not called work.”
“I had already made up my mind to that,” said Toni seriously, “I am going—now don’t tell anybody this—I am going to marry little Denise Duval, and we are going to live part of the time with Mademoiselle Duval and eat cakes, and the rest of the time with my mother and eat candies.”
“Ho-ho!” laughed Hermann, who had a great, big, joyous laugh, “what a clever arrangement—and Mademoiselle Duval has agreed to this, and her niece, and your mother?”
“My mother will agree to anything I say, and Mademoiselle Duval will agree to anything Denise says, but I have not asked Denise yet—she is so young, you know, she doesn’t understand anything about these things, but I shall marry her just the same. If I ever have a wife, I mean that she shall be nice, and clean, and good, and stay at home and work hard. Women ought to work hard, you know, Monsieur Hermann.”