I took his hand, I drew him between my knees, I hid my face in his neck, I shook with the violence of my emotion.
“Go, go, boy: you perceive I cannot talk to you.”
I pushed him gently from me.
“Papa!” cried he, “I do not like to leave you. I know I am but a boy, and can be but of little use to you. If mamma were with you, I would not be troublesome. I should cry when I saw you were grieved, but I would ask no questions, and would leave you, because you desired it. I hope you have not had any bad news?”
“No, my boy, no. Come to me to-morrow, and I will be at leisure, and will talk a great deal to you.”
“Ah, papa, to-morrow! Every day that I did not see you, I thought it would be to-morrow! And there was one to-morrow, and another to-morrow, and so many, that it seemed as if you had forgotten to speak to me at all.”
“Why, Charles, you do not doubt my word? I tell you that to-morrow you shall see me as long as you please.”
“Well, well, I will wait! But do then let it be all day! I will not go to college, and it shall be a holiday. Papa, I do not like my lessons half so well as I did, since I have neither you nor mamma that I can tell what they are about.”
“Good-bye, Charles! Be a good boy! remember to-morrow! Good-bye!”