nd led
his guest into a species of dining-room, the whitewashed walls of which
were decorated only with a few rudely colored prints. As he entered,
Arnold saw Jean seated on the floor and surrounded by his brothers,
among whom he was dividing the cake given him by his father. But each
one objected to the size of his portion and wished to lessen it; it
required all the little hunchback's eloquence to make them accept what
he had given them. For some time the young sportsman watched this
dispute with singular interest, and when the children had gone out again
he expressed his admiration to the farmer's wife.

"It is quite true," she said with a smile and a sigh, "that there are
times when it seems as though it were a good thing for them to see
Jean's infirmity. It is hard for them to give up to each other, but not
one of them can refuse Jean anything; it is a constant exercise in
kindness and devotion."

"Great virtue, that!" interrupted Moser. "Who could refuse anything to
such a poor, afflicted little innocent? It's a silly thing for a man to
say; but, look you, monsieur, that child there always makes me want to
cry. Often when I am at work in the fields, I begin all at once to think
about him. I say to myself Jean is ill! or Jean is dead! and then I have
to find some excuse for coming home to see how it is. Then he is so weak
and so ailing! If we did not love him more than the others, he would be
too unhappy."

"Yes," said the mother gently, "the poor child is our cross and our joy
at the same time. I love all my children, monsieur, but whenever I hear
the sound of Jean's crutches on the floor, I always feel a rush of
happiness. It is a sign that the good God has not yet taken our darling
away from us. It seems to me as though Jean brought happiness to the
house just like swallows' nests fastened to the windows. If I hadn't him
to take care of, I should think there was nothing for me to do."

Arnold listened to these naive expressions of tenderness with an
interest that was mingled with astonishment. The farmer's wife called a
servant to help set the table; and at Moser's invitation, the young man
approached the brushwood fire which had been rekindled.

As he was leaning against the smoky mantelpiece, his eye fell upon a
small black frame that inclosed a withered leaf. Moser noticed it.

"Ah! you are looking at my relic. It's a leaf of the weeping-willow that
grows down there on the tomb of Napoleon! I got it fro