“I have been reflecting,” he said to Maurice, “and I think my books of sketches are not sufficient to give you for your horse. Listen now: besides the books, I will give you a real pony. Perhaps he will be rather bigger than Cressida; but I will buy one as much like Cressida as possible.”
“YOUR SON IS A HERO!”
“Well, but,” said Maurice, “why not keep the live one for yourself? You can even call it Cressida if you like.”
The young officer was a little put out by this suggestion, but after a minute he replied:—“I could not take a real horse with me on board ship; but a wooden horse is different. Now look here: not only will I give you the pony, but you shall have a groom expressly to take care of it; and both groom and pony shall be kept at my expense while I am away. I will pay, besides, for you to have some lessons in riding, so that when your papa goes out on horseback to the Bois de Boulogne you will be able to ride by his side.”
“You will do all that?”
“Yes, really, I will do all that.”
“Ah, no, no! I cannot give you Cressida. If that poor Fritz should ever come back, I will tell him all; and perhaps he will let me give you the horse.”
“You behave to me like a selfish and ungrateful child.”
“Oh, uncle, uncle,” exclaimed poor little Maurice, and he began to weep bitterly, “is it possible that you say this to me seriously? Ah, well! then you shall have——” He was going to say,—“you shall have Cressida;” but as he spoke his mother entered the room. Her presence seemed to remind him that he was going to break his promise after all; and he went on:—“You may think what you please, uncle, but I will not give you Cressida.”