After a little while the Ravenels rose—they were not persons who outstayed their welcome—and went away with gratitude in their hearts to the Verneys. This was a little thing, but it was the entering wedge of something like social recognition in Bienville. The next time they met on the terrace, it was Monsieur Verney, who, with Madame, asked permission to sit at the table with the Ravenels. Captain Ravenel, in the course of the conversation, mentioned some pictures he had of the Arab tribesmen in Algeria. Monsieur Verney spoke of them to Paul next day, and the boy begged that he might ask Captain Ravenel to show him the pictures. Monsieur Verney consented, and that afternoon Paul, finding the Ravenels taking their accustomed walk, went up, and, according to his habit, blushing very much, said that his father had given him permission to ask Captain Ravenel to show him his Arab pictures. Captain Ravenel promptly appointed the next morning, after breakfast, and Paul presented himself at half after eleven. He was the first visitor of their own class who had darkened the door of the Ravenels since they came to Bienville.
Captain Ravenel not only showed him the pictures, but talked to him so interestingly that the boy went home captivated. Moreover, he told his father that some things, which seemed so hard for him to learn at school, Captain Ravenel had made quite clear to him, and it came to Monsieur Verney’s mind that it would be a good thing to get Captain Ravenel to coach Paul an hour or two every day during his holidays. Madame Verney rapturously approved of this. The vision of Lucie hovered over it all. The arrangement was soon made, and, during the rest of his holidays, for two hours every day, Paul sat with Captain Ravenel, in the garden on pleasant days, but in the salon when it was disagreeable, and studied mathematics and geography with him.
Never was there so attentive a boy, and the Verneys were charmed and delighted at the progress Paul made in his studies. He was naturally of a determined and plodding nature, and Ravenel was a good instructor, but there was another motive urging Paul on. Ravenel was Lucie’s brother-in-law, and when that glorious day came, when Lucie would be a young lady, living in Bienville, and Paul would be a young lieutenant of cavalry, calling her in public Mademoiselle Bernard, and in secret Lucie, it would be a very good thing for him to be in favor with Captain Ravenel, and also with Madame Ravenel. Paul’s politeness and courtesy, the promptness with which his cap came off his reddish hair when he saw Madame Ravenel, the way in which he flew to open the door or the gate for her, the gentleness of his behavior, made Sophie his friend as much as Captain Ravenel.
CHAPTER VIII
In spite of his two hours’ work every day with Captain Ravenel, Paul found plenty of opportunity still to be with Toni. They maintained their attitude of confidence toward each other as regarded their different lady-loves, and about this time Toni confessed to Paul that strange and thorough revolution that had taken place in his nature, by which he had, for the first time in his life, given to another person something which he might have gobbled up himself, in giving Denise nearly all of his two sticks of candy. Paul commended this highly in Toni, and said to him:
“Boys should always give girls the preference in things like that. My father always gives my mother all the chicken livers—that is the way with gentlemen. But, Toni,” added Paul frankly and seriously, “I am afraid you are not a gentleman, and never will be one.”
“No, indeed,” answered Toni, “I am no gentleman—I don’t want to be a gentleman—I am only Toni. But I like Denise almost as much as you do Mademoiselle Lucie. At first, I meant to marry Denise just because her aunt keeps a pastry shop, but now”—here Toni expanded his chest, and looked hard at Paul—“but now, I believe, that is, I almost believe, I could marry Denise even if her aunt didn’t keep a pastry shop. You see, Denise is so very clean, and I like clean little girls.”
Toni, at that moment, had gathered on his person all the dirt possible, in spite of the earnest efforts of Madame Marcel in a contrary direction. His hands were grimy, there was a smudge on his nose, and his blue overalls, which had been clean that very morning, were all mud and tatters. A more disreputable-looking boy than Toni did not exist in Bienville. Paul, realizing the incongruity between Toni’s sentiments and his appearance, burst out laughing, but Toni did not mind being laughed at, and grinned himself in sympathy.