"Poor boy!" murmured Monsieur Roger, and his growing friendship became all the stronger.
That evening, after dinner, when coffee was being served, Miss Miette, who was in a very good humor, was seized with the desire to tease her little friend Paul.
"Say, Paul," she asked, from one end of the table to the other, "how many prizes did you take this year?"
Paul, knowing that an attack was coming, began to smile, and answered, good-naturedly,—
"You know very well, you naughty girl. You have already asked me, and I have told you."
"Ah, that is true," said Miette, with affected disdain: "you took one prize,—one poor little prize,—bah!"
Then, after a moment, she continued,—
"That is not like my brother: he took several prizes, he did,—a prize for Latin, a prize for history, a prize for mathematics, a prize for physical science, and a prize for chemistry. Well, well! and you,—you only took one prize; and that is the same one you took last year!"
"Yes," said Paul, without minding his friend's teasing; "but last year I took only the second prize, and this year I took the first."
"You have made some progress," said Miss Miette, sententiously.