"He said _mamma_!" cried one of the new-comers, laughing.

The words reached Oscar's ears and drove him to say, "Good-bye,
mother!" in a tone of terrible impatience.

Let us admit that Madame Clapart spoke too loudly, and seemed to wish
to show to those around them her tenderness for the boy.

"What is the matter with you, Oscar?" asked the poor hurt woman. "I
don't know what to make of you," she added in a severe tone, fancying
herself able to inspire him with respect,--a great mistake made by
those who spoil their children. "Listen, my Oscar," she said, resuming
at once her tender voice, "you have a propensity to talk, and to tell
all you know, and all that you don't know; and you do it to show off,
with the foolish vanity of a mere lad. Now, I repeat, endeavor to keep
your tongue in check. You are not sufficiently advanced in life, my
treasure, to be able to judge of the persons with whom you may be
thrown; and there is nothing more dangerous than to talk in public
conveyances. Besides, in a diligence well-bred persons always keep
silence."

The two young men, who seemed to have walked to the farther end of the
establishment, here returned, making their boot-heels tap upon the
paved passage of the porte-cochere. They might have heard the whole of
this maternal homily. So, in order to rid himself of his mother, Oscar
had recourse to an heroic measure, which proved how vanity stimulates
the intellect.

"Mamma," he said, "you are standing in a draught, and you may take