up bottles of wine, cold chickens, and other titbits, fine linen,
old clothes, oil, sugar, and candles--the best pickings from a
rich man's house. No, I'll not let my little Jean be sucked to
death by such vampires. _I_ mean to keep your house in order. No
one will ever know I am your aunt. And if they did know, there's
nobody, I should hope, could object. I don't know why anyone
should be ashamed of me. They can lay my whole life bare, I have
nothing to blush for. And there's many a Duchess can't say as
much. As for forsaking the lad for fear of doing him a hurt,
well, the notion is just what I expected of you, Servien; you've
always been a bit simple-minded. _I_ mean to stay all my life
with Jean. No, little lad, you'll never drive your old aunt out
of your house, will you? And who could ever make your bed the
way I can, my lamb?"

Jean promised his father faithfully, oh! most faithfully, he
would lead a hardworking life. Then he shut himself up in his
room and pictured the future to himself--long years of austere
and methodical labour.

He mapped out his days systematically. In the morning he wrote
copies to improve his handwriting, seated at a corner of the
workbench. After breakfast he did sums in his bedroom. Every
evening he went to the _Rue Soufflot_ by way of the Luxembourg
gardens to a private tutor's, and the old man would set him
dictations and explain the rules of simple interest. On reaching
the gate adjoining the _Fontaine Médicis_ the boy always turned
round for a look at the statues of women he could discern
standing like white ghosts along the terrace. He had left behind
on the path of life another fascinating vision.