Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part two

“You will allow us, good Monsieur Principal ” said Gilbert.

“How can you doubt it?”

“Billot and Pitou, you must, my friends, stand in need of some refreshment?”

“Upon my word, I do,” said Billot. “I have eaten nothing since the morning, and I believe that Pitou has fasted as long as I have.”

“I beg your pardon,” replied Pitou: “I ate a crumb of bread and two or three sausages, just the moment before I dragged you out of the water; but a bath always makes one hungry.”

“Well, then, come to the refectory,” said the Abbé Bérardier, “and you shall have some dinner.”

“Ho, ho!” cried Pitou.

“You are afraid of our college fare!” cried the abbé; “but do not alarm yourselves; you shall be treated as invited guests. Moreover, it appears to me,” continued the abbé, “that it is not alone your stomach that is in a dilapidated state, my dear Monsieur Pitou.”

Pitou cast a look replete with modesty on his own person.

“And that if you were offered a pair of breeches as well as a dinner—”

“The fact is, I would accept them, good Monsieur Bérardier,” replied Pitou.

“Well, then, come with me; both the breeches and the dinner are at your service.”

And he led off Billot and Pitou by one door, while Gilbert and his son, waving their hands to them, went out at another.

The latter crossed a yard which served as a playground to the young collegians, and went into a small garden reserved for the professors, a cool and shady retreat, in which the venerable Abbé Bérardier was wont to read his Tacitus and his Juvenal.

Gilbert seated himself upon a bench, overshadowed by an alcove of clematis and virgin vines; then, drawing Sebastien close to him, and parting the long hair which fell upon his forehead:—

“Well, my child,” said he, “we are, then, once more united.”

Sebastien raised his eyes to heaven.

“Yes, Father, and by a miracle performed by God.”

Gilbert smiled.

“If there be any miracle,” said Gilbert, “it was the brave people of Paris who have accomplished it.”

“My father,” said the boy, “set not God aside in all that has just occurred; for I, when I saw you come in, instinctively offered my thanks to God for your deliverance.”

“And Billot?”

“Billot I thanked after thanking God, as I thanked his carabine after Billot.”

Gilbert reflected.

“You are right, child,” said he; “God is in everything. But now let us talk of you, and let us have some little conversation before we again separate.”

“Are we, then, to be again separated, Father?”

“Not for a long time, I presume. But a casket, containing some very precious documents, has disappeared from Billot’s house, at the same time that I was arrested and sent to the Bastille. I must therefore endeavor to discover who it was that caused my imprisonment,—who has carried off the casket.”

“It is well, Father. I will wait to see you again,—till your inquiries shall be completed.”

And the boy sighed deeply.

“You are sorrowful, Sebastien?” said the doctor, inquiringly.

“Yes.”

“And why are you sorrowful?”

“I do not know. It appears to me that life has not been shaped for me in the way it has been for other children.”

“What are you saying there, Sebastien?”

“The truth.”

“Explain yourself.”

“They all have amusements, pleasures, while I have none.”

“You have no amusements, no pleasures?”

“I mean to say, Father, that I take no pleasure in those games which form the amusement of boys of my own age.”

“Take care, Sebastien; I should much regret that you should be of such a disposition. Sebastien, minds that give promise of a glorious future are like good fruits during their growth; they have their bitterness, their acidity, their greenness, before they can delight the palate by their matured full flavor. Believe me, my child, it is good to have been young.”

“It is not my fault if I am not so,” replied the young man, with a melancholy smile. Gilbert pressed both his son’s hands within his own, and fixing his eye intently upon Sebastien’s, continued:—

“Your age, my son, is that of the seed when germinating; nothing should yet appear above the surface of all that study has sown in you. At the age of fourteen, Sebastien, gravity is either pride, or it proceeds from malady. I have asked you whether your health was good, and you replied affirmatively. I am going to ask you whether you are proud; try to reply to me that you are not.”

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