He followed her wherever she went,
laughed when she laughed without asking why, and was altogether content.

Another letter. "He will come to-morrow!"

Although D'Argenton had written kindly, Ida was still nervous, and
wished to arrange the meeting in her own way. Consequently she refused
to permit him to go with her to the station in the little carriage. She
gave him several injunctions, painful to them both, as if they had
each been guilty of some great fault, and to the boy inexpressibly
mortifying.

"You will remain at the end of the garden," she said, "and do not come
until I call you."

The child lingered an hour in expectation, and when he heard the
grinding of the wheels, ran down the garden walk, and concealed himself
behind the gooseberry bushes. He heard D'Argenton speak. His tone was
harder, sterner than ever. He heard his mother's sweet voice answer
gently, "Yes, my dear--no, my dear." Then a window in the tower opened.
"Come, Jack, I want you, my child!"

The boy's heart beat quickly as he mounted the stairs. D'Argenton was
leaning back in the tall armchair, his light hair gleaming against the
dark wood. Ida stood by his side, and did not even hold out her hand to
the little fellow. The lecture he received was short and affectionate
to a certain extent. "Jack," he said, in conclusion, "life is not a
romance; you must work in earnest. I am willing to believe in your
penitence; and if you behave well, I will certainly love you, and we
three may live together happily. Now listen to what I propose. I am a
very busy man.--I am, nevertheless, willing to devote two hours every
day to your education. If you will study faithfully, I can make of you,
frivolous as you are by nature, a man like myself."

"You hear, Jack," said his mother, alarmed at his silence, "and you
understand the sacrifice that your friend is ready to make for you--"

"Yes, mamma," stammered Jack.

"Wait, Charlotte," interrupted D'Argenton; "he must decide for himself:
I wish to force no one."

Jack, petrified at hearing his mother called Charlotte, and unable to
find words to express his sense of such generosity, ended by saying
nothing. Seeing the child's embarrassment, his mother gently pushed him
into the poet's arms, who pressed a theatrical kiss on his brow.

"Ah, dear, how good you are!" murmured the poor woman, while the child,
dismissed by an imperative gesture, hastily ran down the stairs.

In reality Jack's installation i