wonder? It is better fun, during the holidays, to be the son of
a travelling merchant than son and heir to the greatest cotton-spinner
in creation. And as for being a reigning prince--indeed I never saw one
if it was not Master Gilliard!

While M. Hector and the son of the house were putting up the donkey, and
getting all the valuables under lock and key, the landlady warmed up the
remains of our beefsteak, and fried the cold potatoes in slices, and
Madame Gilliard set herself to waken the boy, who had come far that day,
and was peevish and dazzled by the light. He was no sooner awake than he
began to prepare himself for supper by eating galette, unripe pears, and
cold potatoes--with, so far as I could judge, positive benefit to his
appetite.

The landlady, fired with motherly emulation, awoke her own little girl;
and the two children were confronted. Master Gilliard looked at her for
a moment, very much as a dog looks at his own reflection in a mirror
before he turns away. He was at that time absorbed in the galette. His
mother seemed crestfallen that he should display so little inclination
towards the other sex; and expressed her disappointment with some
candour and a very proper reference to the influence of years.

Sure enough a time will come when he will pay more attention to the
girls, and think a great deal less of his mother: let us hope she will
like it as well as she seemed to fancy. But it is odd enough: the very
women who profess most contempt for mankind as a sex, seem to find even
its ugliest particulars rather lively and high-minded in their own sons.

The little girl looked longer and with more interest, probably because
she was in her own house, while he was a traveller and accustomed to
strange sights. And besides there was no galette in the case with her.

All the time of supper, there was nothing spoken of but my young lord.
The two parents were both absurdly fond of their child. Monsieur kept
insisting on his sagacity: how he knew all the children at school by
name; and when this utterly failed on trial, how he was cautious and
exact to a strange degree, and, if asked anything, he would sit and
think--and think, and if he did not know it, "my faith, he wouldn't tell
you at all--_ma foi, il ne vous le dira pas_": which is certainly a very
high degree of caution. At intervals, M. Hector would appeal to his
wife, with his mouth full of beefsteak, as to the little fellow's age at
such or such a ti