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the gleam of the negro’s white eyes, and heard the raps upon the footboard of the bed, that imitated the drum, and was frightened. He fancied that he heard the whizzing of the sabres, and the heavy thud of the falling heads; he pulled the blanket over his head, and held his breath.
    Mβdou, who was excited by his own story, wished to talk on, but he thought his solitary auditor asleep. But when Jack drew a long breath, Mβdou said gently, “Shall we talk some more, sir?”
    “Yes,” answered Jack; “only don’t let us say any more about that drum, nor the copper basin.” The negro laughed silently. “Very well, sir; Mβdou won’t talk—you must talk now. What is your name?”
    “Jack, with a k. Mamma thinks a great deal about that—”
    “Is your mamma very rich?”
    “Rich! I guess she is,” said Jack, by no means unwilling to dazzle Mβdou in his turn. “We have a carriage, a beautiful house on the boulevard, horses, servants, and all. And then you will see, when mamma comes here, how beautiful she is. Everybody in the street turns to look at her, she has such beautiful dresses and such jewels. We used to live at Tours; it was a pretty place. We walked in the Rue Royale, where we bought nice cakes, and where we met plenty of officers in uniform. The gentlemen were all good to me. I had Papa Leon, and Papa Charles,—not real papas, you know, because my own father died when I was a little fellow. When we first went to Paris I did not like it; I missed the trees and the country; but mamma petted me so much, and was so good to me, that I was soon happy again. I was dressed like the little English boys, and my hair was curled, and every day we went to the Bois. At last my mamma’s old friend said that I ought to learn something; so mamma took me to the Jesuit College—”
    Here Jack stopped suddenly. To say that the Fathers would not receive him, wounded his self-love sorely. Notwithstanding the ignorance and innocence of his age, he felt that there was something humiliating to his mother in this avowal, as well as to himself; and then this recital, on which he had so heedlessly entered, carried him back to the only serious trouble of his life. Why had they not been willing to receive him? why did his mother weep? and why did the Superior pity him?
    “Say, then, little master,” asked the negro suddenly, “what is a cocotte?”
    “A cocotte?” asked Jack in astonishment. “I don’t know. Is it a chicken?”
    “I heard the father with a stick say to Madame Moronval that your mother was a cocotte.”
    “What an ideal. You misunderstood,” and at the thought of his mother being a hen, with feathers, wings, and claws, the boy began to laugh; and Mβdou, without knowing why, followed his example.
    This gayety soon obliterated the painful impressions of their previous conversation, and the two little, lonely fellows, after having confided to each other all their sorrows, fell asleep with smiles on their lips.
    CHAPTER IV.~~THE REUNION.
    Children are like grown people,—the experiences of others are never of any use to them.
    Jack had been terrified by Madou’s story, but he thought of it only as a frightful tale, or a bloody battle seen at the theatre. The first months were so happy at the academy, every one was so kind, that he forgot that Mβdou for a time had been equally happy.
    At table he occupied the next seat to Moronval, drank his wine, shared his dessert; while the other children, as soon as the cakes and fruit appeared, rose abruptly from the table. Opposite Jack sat Dr. Hirsch, whose finances, to judge from his appearance, were in a most deplorable condition. He enlivened the repast by all sorts of scientific jokes, by descriptions of surgical operations, by accounts of infectious diseases, and, in fact, kept his hearers au courant with all the ailments of the day; and, if he heard of a case of leprosy, of elephantiasis, or of the plague, in any quarter of the globe, he would nod his head with