Oscar's blue woollen stockings became visible,
through the action of his trousers which drew up suddenly, also the
new patch in the said trousers was seen, through the parting of his
coat-tails. The smiles of the two young men, on whom these signs of
an honorable indigence were not lost, were so many fresh wounds to the
lad's vanity.

"The first place was engaged for Oscar," said the mother to Pierrotin.
"Take the back seat," she said to the boy, looking fondly at him with a
loving smile.

Oh! how Oscar regretted that trouble and sorrow had destroyed his
mother's beauty, and that poverty and self-sacrifice prevented her from
being better dressed! One of the young men, the one who wore top-boots
and spurs, nudged the other to make him take notice of Oscar's mother,
and the other twirled his moustache with a gesture which signified,--

"Rather pretty figure!"

"How shall I ever get rid of mamma?" thought Oscar.

"What's the matter?" asked Madame Clapart.

Oscar pretended not to hear, the monster! Perhaps Madame Clapart was
lacking in tact under the circumstances; but all absorbing sentiments
have so much egotism!

"Georges, do you like children when travelling?" asked one young man of
the other.

"Yes, my good Amaury, if they are weaned, and are named Oscar, and have
chocolate."

These speeches were uttered in half-tones to allow Oscar to hear them or
not hear them as he chose; his countenance was to be the weather-gauge
by which the other young traveller could judge how much fun he might be
able to get out of the lad during the journey. Oscar chose not to hear.
He looked to see if his mother, who weighed upon him like a nightmare,
was still there, for he felt that she loved him too well to leave him
so quickly. Not only did he involuntarily compare the dress of his
travelling companion with his own, but he felt that his mother's toilet
counted for much in the smiles of the two young men.

"If they would only take themselves off!" he said to himself.

Instead of that, Amaury remarked to Georges, giving a tap with his cane
to the heavy wheel of the coucou:

"And so, my friend, you are really going to trust your future to this
fragile bark?"

"I must," replied Georges, in a tone of fatalism.

Oscar gave a sigh as he remarked the jaunty manner in which his
companion's hat was stuck on one ear for the purpose of showing a
magnificent head of blond hair beautifully brushed and curled; while he,
by order of h