e had put down on the pavement, he set off
toward the postern-gate of the Louvre.

The lost child followed him.

"I hope he will take him right," said I, when I saw them go away.

"Never fear," replied the mason; "the little one in the blouse is
the same age as the other; but, as the saying is, he knows black from
white;' poverty, you see, is a famous schoolmistress!"

The crowd dispersed. For my part, I went toward the Louvre; the thought
came into my head to follow the two children, so as to guard against any
mistake.

I was not long in overtaking them; they were walking side by side,
talking, and already quite familiar with each other. The contrast in
their dress then struck me. Little Duval wore one of those fanciful
children's dresses which are expensive as well as in good taste; his
coat was skilfully fitted to his figure, his trousers came down
in plaits from his waist to his boots of polished leather with
mother-of-pearl buttons, and his ringlets were half hid by a velvet cap.
The appearance of his guide, on the contrary, was that of the class who
dwell on the extreme borders of poverty, but who there maintain their
ground with no surrender. His old blouse, patched with pieces of
different shades, indicated the perseverance of an industrious mother
struggling against the wear and tear of time; his trousers were become
too short, and showed his stockings darned over and over again; and it
was evident that his shoes were not made for him.

The countenances of the two children were not less different than their
dress. That of the first was delicate and refined; his clear blue
eye, his fair skin, and his smiling mouth gave him a charming look of
innocence and happiness. The features of the other, on the contrary, had
something rough in them; his eye was quick and lively, his complexion
dark, his smile less merry than shrewd; all showed a mind sharpened by
too early experience; he walked boldly through the middle of the streets
thronged by carriages, and followed their countless turnings without
hesitation.

I found, on asking him, that every day he carried dinner to his father,
who was then working on the left bank of the Seine; and this responsible
duty had made him careful and prudent. He had learned those hard but
forcible lessons of necessity which nothing can equal or supply the
place of. Unfortunately, the wants of his poor family had kept him from
school, and he seemed to feel the loss; for he often s