every three months and talked
to him of Oscar, the nephew of the late respectable Madame Cardot; and
she took the boy to call upon him three times during each vacation. At
each of these visits the old gentleman had given Oscar a dinner at the
Cadran-Bleu, taking him, afterwards, to the Gaiete, and returning him
safely to the rue de la Cerisaie. On one occasion, having given the boy
an entirely new suit of clothes, he added the silver cup and fork and
spoon required for his school outfit.

Oscar's mother endeavored to impress the old gentleman with the idea
that his nephew cherished him, and she constantly referred to the cup
and the fork and spoon and to the beautiful suit of clothes, though
nothing was then left of the latter but the waistcoat. But such little
arts did Oscar more harm than good when practised on so sly an old fox
as uncle Cardot. The latter had never much liked his departed wife, a
tall, spare, red-haired woman; he was also aware of the circumstances of
the late Husson's marriage with Oscar's mother, and without in the least
condemning her, he knew very well that Oscar was a posthumous child. His
nephew, therefore, seemed to him to have no claims on the Cardot family.
But Madame Clapart, like all women who concentrate their whole being
into the sentiment of motherhood, did not put herself in Cardot's place
and see the matter from his point of view; she thought he must certainly
be interested in so sweet a child, who bore the maiden name of his late
wife.

"Monsieur," said old Cardot's maid-servant, coming out to him as
he walked about the garden while awaiting his breakfast, after his
hairdresser had duly shaved him and powdered his queue, "the mother of
your nephew, Oscar, is here."

"Good-day, fair lady," said the old man, bowing to Madame Clapart, and
wrapping his white pique dressing-gown about him. "Hey, hey! how this
little fellow grows," he added, taking Oscar by the ear.

"He has finished school, and he regretted so much that his dear uncle
was not present at the distribution of the Henri IV. prizes, at which
he was named. The name of Husson, which, let us hope, he will bear
worthily, was proclaimed--"

"The deuce it was!" exclaimed the little old man, stopping short. Madame
Clapart, Oscar, and he were walking along a terrace flanked by oranges,
myrtles, and pomegranates. "And what did he get?"

"The fourth rank in philosophy," replied the mother proudly.

"Oh! oh!" cried uncle Cardot,