“It is impossible, mademoiselle. I cannot give away your tickets without leave from your father.”
“Leave from my father, who is not here!” cried Emilie. “He is in Martinique. Before we could get an answer—O, dear! O, dear!”
“Do not distress yourself so, my child,” said the governess. “I have heard that they receive free pupils in the gymnasium conducted by M. Amoros. For many years they have taken those unfortunate children who are unable to pay the price of subscription. It is very generous and kind in Colonel Amoros, for it must be very expensive to support an establishment of this kind in the city.”
“It is very good in the colonel; but then I want to pay for Jacques, because if every one went without paying, the school would soon come to an end.”
“But what money have you to pay with?”
“Ah, you shall see, my kind friend.—Jacques,” she added, turning to the poor boy, whose pale and suffering face expressed all the interest he took in this conversation,—“Jacques, you must come with me to the gymnasium.”
“Never, for I cannot walk so far as that, mademoiselle,” said Jacques, sadly.
“But you must ride in my carriage.”
“Just think of that, mademoiselle! No, I am too poorly clothed,” said the poor son of the slater, glancing at his worn-out vest and at his green trousers patched with gray.
“Haven’t you any Sunday clothes?”