“What are you saying, Jacques?” inquired Genevieve.
“That I am good for nothing. My uncle was right.”
“Take courage, my son. When you are older, you will grow stronger.”
“Yes, if—” said the boy.
But he left the sentence unfinished, and his mother was too much absorbed in her grief to ask him what he meant. It was late, and in a few minutes the poor family retired. It was hardly light when Jacques went down into the court-yard to see the grooms curry the horses, wash the carriages, and get ready for the day.
It was summer, and very soon a pretty little girl came down into the court. Jacques uttered a loud cry when he saw her.
“Without crutches, Mademoiselle Emilie!”
“So you see, Jacques,” replied the young girl, with a sweet smile. “I shall not use them any more. To be sure, I am a little weak here,” she added, showing her left arm and foot, which were smaller than the right; “and besides,” she said, “I am a little crooked.”
“And mademoiselle believes that she is entirely cured?”
“Certainly, Jacques. Only think, I was worse than you are! Stop, Jacques! I do really believe that you would be cured if you would go with me, and take lessons in gymnastics at the house of Colonel Amoros.”