It was a short one,
to be sure, but lengthened by a panegyric of the Moronval Institute, and
of its principal. The discipline of the establishment was commended;
its hygienic regulations, the peculiar skill of its medical
adviser,--nothing had been forgotten, and the unanimity of the eulogiums
was something quite touching.

One day in May, therefore, Paris, which, notwithstanding its innumerable
occupations and its feverish excitements, has always one eye open to
all that goes on,--Paris saw on its principal boulevards a singular
procession. Four black boys walked by the side of a bier. Behind, a
taller lad, a tone lighter in complexion, wearing a fez,--our friend
Said,--carried on a velvet cushion an order or two, some royal insignia
fantastic in character. Then came Moronval, with Jack and the other
schoolboys. The professors followed with the habitues of the house, the
literary men whom we met at the soiree. How shabby were these last!
How many worn-out coats and worn-out hearts were there! How many
disappointed hopes and unattainable ambitions! All these slowly
marched on, embarrassed by the full light of day to which they were
unaccustomed; and this melancholy escort precisely suited the little
deposed king. Were not all of these persons pretendents, too, to some
imaginary kingdom to which they would never succeed? Where but in Paris
could such a funeral be seen? A king of Dahomey escorted to the grave by
a procession of Bohemians!

To increase the dreariness of the scene, a fine cold rain began to fall,
as if fate pursued the little prince, who so hated cold weather, even to
the very grave. Yes, to the grave; for when the coffin had been lowered,
Moronval pronounced a discourse so insincere and hard that it would
not have warmed you, my poor Madou! Moronval spoke of the virtues and
estimable qualities of the defunct, of the model sovereign he would one
day have made had he lived. To those who had been familiar with that
pitiful little face, who had seen the child abased by servitude,
Moronval's discourse was at once heart-breaking and absurd.

CHAPTER VIII.~~JACK'S DEPARTURE.

The only sincere grief for the negro boy was felt by little Jack. The
death of his comrade had impressed him to an extraordinary degree, and
the lonely deathbed he had witnessed haunted him for days. Jack knew too
that now he must bear alone all Moronval's whims and caprices, for the
other pupils all had some one who came occasion