“Come,” announced his mother, “they have work to do.”
“We shall have a little more time to talk later on at the table,” said his father.
Mother and son left the office and made their way to the dining-room. Quentin sat at the table and ravenously devoured eggs, ham, rolls, a bit of cheese, and a plate of sweets.
“But you’ll lose your appetite for dinner,” warned his mother.
“Ca! I never lose my appetite. I could go right on eating,” replied Quentin. Then, smacking his lips over the wine as he stuck his nose into the glass, he added: “What wine, mother! We didn’t drink anythink like this at school.”
“No?”
“I should say not!”
“Poor boy!”
Quentin, touched, cried:
“I was lonesome, oh, so lonesome over there for such a long time. And now ... you won’t love me as you do the others.”—