“It is true, Pa—I mean, Lieutenant, that I got into bad company when I was in the circus, and I want to tell you all about it. But first tell me something about Bienville. I have written regularly to my mother, but I was afraid to give her my address.”
“Afraid of what?” asked Paul.
Toni’s eyes wandered around the room aimlessly, and came back to Paul’s.
“I always was afraid,” he said.
“Your mother is alive and well,” said Paul, “but heart-broken about you. What induced you, Toni, to run away as you did?”
“Because—because—” That one franc still loomed large in Toni’s mind. “I took a franc from my mother—only a single franc, to go to the circus, and Clery, the tailor, caught me and accused me of taking the money and whipped me and said he would have me arrested and then—oh, I was so frightened! I have been frightened every time I thought of that franc in these more than seven years.”
“Some story of the sort got out,” answered Paul, “but your mother always denied it. I don’t really think she missed the franc that you took out of the box. But Toni, what a fool you were—what a monumental fool you were.”
Toni shook his head. “And a coward, too, sir,” he said. It was very difficult to add that “sir” when he spoke to Paul, and equally strange for Paul to hear.
“Look here, Toni, don’t call me ‘sir’ when we are alone—I can’t stand it. As soon as we step outside in the corridor it shall be ‘my man’ and ‘sir,’ but when the door is locked we are Paul and Toni.”
Toni nodded delightedly. “It never would have worked,” he said, “when the door is locked on us.”