“Yes, monsieur; I asked Père Calleux to let us keep his son, and he consented. I thought Coco would be happier at our house. Did I do wrong, monsieur?”
“As if you could do wrong!”
“And then my little Denise takes good care of Jacqueleine,” said Coco; “and she lets me play all I want to,—if I’ll pray to the good Lord for my kind friend every morning and every night.”
Denise blushed and looked at the ground.
“Isn’t it natural to pray for one’s benefactor?” she stammered.
Auguste was touched; he gazed at the girl and the child for some moments, profoundly amazed that a little money, given for the purpose of doing good, should afford him greater happiness than the money he spent by the handful to pay for his pleasures. Then, as if he were ashamed of his emotion, he exclaimed:
“Thanks for a mere trifle!—But, now that my little fellow is with you for good and all, I don’t propose that he shall be a burden to you. You can hardly have anything left of the paltry sum I gave you, and to-day I will make up for my neglect. I want Coco to do something, to learn——”
“Oh! Denise is teaching me my letters now,” said the child.
“What! do you know how to read, Denise?” asked Auguste.
“Yes, monsieur, and to write too,” the girl replied, with an air of importance.