The chronicle goes on to say that the disappearance was not final: the
mysterious fugitive reappeared on the third day, in the same spot where he
had vanished, but apparently rather the worse for wear. He was at first
taken for a spirit, and all fled before him; but he, going hastily forward
to the dining hall, and finding a great sirloin of beef set out upon the
board, forthwith fell to, and, in a wondrous short time, devoured the
whole thereof, drinking also a gallon and a half of the wine of Burgundy.
This exploit restored the belief of the household in the material
consistency of their master, and thereupon was much thanksgiving,
feasting, and rejoicing. But the secret of the disappearance never was
revealed.

I give these musty old details for what they are worth; they may perhaps be
construed as an indication that the race of Malmaison had some
peculiarities of its own.

As for Archibald, he was rather neglected than otherwise. He was a dull and
stolid baby, neither crying nor crowing much: he would sit all day over a
single toy, not playing with it, but holding it idly in his hands or
between his knees. He could neither crawl, walk, nor talk till long after
the usual time for such accomplishments. It seemed as if he had made up
his mind to live according to his birthdays--that is, four times as slow
as other people. The only things he did do well were eating and sleeping:
he never appeared to be thoroughly awake, nor was his appetite ever
entirely satisfied. As might be supposed, therefore, his body grew apace;
and at seven years old (or one and three quarters, as the facetious
Baronet would have it) he weighed twelve good pounds more than his brother
Edward, who was two years his senior, though, to be sure, not a specially
robust child.