give him assurance. Amedee was timid,
too, like his father, and while the child, frightened by the resemblance
of the sphere to M. Batifol's bald head, was already trembling, M.
Violette, much agitated, was trying to think of something to say,
consequently, he said nothing of any account. However, he ended by
repeating almost the same things he had said to Mamma Gerard: "My son is
nearly seven years old, and very backward, etc."

The teacher appeared to listen to M. Violette with benevolent interest,
inclining his geographical cranium every few seconds. In reality, he was
observing and judging his visitors. The father's scanty overcoat, the
rather pale face of the little boy, all betokened poverty. It simply
meant a day scholar at thirty francs a month, nothing more. So M. Batifol
shortened the "speech" that under like circumstances he addressed to his
new pupils.

He would take charge of his "young friend" (thirty francs a month, that
is understood, and the child will bring his own luncheon in a little
basket) who would first be placed in an elementary class. Certain fathers
prefer, and they have reason to do so, that their sons should be
half-boarders, with a healthful and abundant repast at noon. But M.
Batifol did not insist upon it. His young friend would then be placed in
the infant class, at first; but he would be prepared there at once, 'ab
ovo', one day to receive lessons in this University of France, 'alma
parens' (instruction in foreign languages not included in the ordinary
price, naturally), which by daily study, competition between scholars
(accomplishments, such as dancing, music, and fencing, to be paid for
separately; that goes without saying) prepare children for social life,
and make men and citizens of them.

M. Violette contented himself with the day school at thirty francs, and
for a good reason. The affair was settled. Early the next morning Amedee
would enter the "ninth preparatory."

"Give me your hand, my young friend," said the master, as father and son
arose to take their leave.

Amedee reached out his hand, and M. Batifol took it in his, which was so
heavy, large, and cold that the child shivered at the contact, and
fancied he was touching a leg of mutton of six or seven pounds' weight,
freshly killed, and sent from the butcher's.

Finally they left. Early the next morning, Amedee, provided with a little
basket, in which the old snuff-taker had put a little bottle of red wine,
and som