Jack

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Authors: Alphonse Daudet
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delight, and say, “It will be here before long—before long!”
    As a neighbor at the table he was not altogether satisfactory: first, his near-sightedness made him very awkward; and, next, he had a way of dropping into your plate, or glass, a pinch of powder, or a few drops from a vial in his pocket The contents of this vial were never the same, for the doctor made new scientific discoveries each week, but in general bicarbonate, alkalies, and arsenic (in infinitesimal doses fortunately) made the base of these medicaments. Jack submitted to these preventives, and did not venture to say that he thought they tasted very badly. Occasionally the other professors were invited, and everybody drank the health of the little De Barancy, every one was enthusiastic over his sweetness and cleverness. The singing teacher, Labassandre, at the least joke made by the child, threw himself back in his chair with a loud laugh, pounded the table with his fist, and wiped his eyes with a corner of his napkin.
    Even D’Argenton, the handsome D’Argenton, relaxed, a pale smile crossed his big moustache, and his cold blue eyes were turned on the child with haughty approval. Jack was delighted. He did not understand, nor did he wish to understand, the signs made to him by Mβdou, as he waited upon the table, with a napkin in one hand and a plate in the other. Mβdou knew better than any one else the real value of these exaggerated praises and the vanity of human greatness.
    He too had occupied the seat of honor, had drunk of his master’s wine, flavored by the powder from the doctor’s bottle; and the tunic, with its silver chevrons, was it not too large for Jack only because it had been made for Mβdou? The story of the little negro should have been a warning to the small De Barancy against the sin of pride, for the installation of both boys in the Moronval Academy had been precisely of the same character.
    The holiday instituted in honor of Jack was insensibly prolonged into weeks. Lessons were few and far between, except from Madame Moronval, who snatched every opportunity of testing her method.
    As to Moronval himself, he professed a great weakness for his new pupil. He had made inquiries in regard to the little hotel on the Boulevard Haussmann, and had fully acquainted himself with the resources of the lady there. When, therefore, Madame de Barancy came to see Jack, which was very often, she met with a warm reception, and had an attentive audience for all the vain and foolish stories she saw fit to tell. At first Madame Moronval wished to preserve a certain dignified coolness toward such a person, but her husband soon changed that idea, and she saw herself obliged to lay aside her womanly scruples in favor of her interests.
    “Jack! Jack! here comes your mother,” some one would cry as the door opened, and Ida would sail in beautifully dressed, with packages of cakes and bonbons in her hands and her muff. It was a festival for every one; they all shared the delicacies, and Madame de Barancy ungloved her hand, the one on which were the most rings, and condescended to take a portion. The poor creature was so generous, and money slipped so easily through her fingers, that she generally brought with her cakes all sorts of presents, playthings, &c., which she distributed as the fancy struck her. It is easy to imagine the enthusiastic praises lavished upon this inconsiderate, reckless generosity. Moronval alone had a smile of pity and of envy at seeing money so wasted, which should have gone to the assistance of some brave, generous soul like himself, for example. This was his fixed idea. And as he sat looking at Ida and gnawing his finger-nails, he had an absent, anxious air like that of a man who comes to ask a loan, and has his petition on the end of his lips. Moronval’s dream for some time had been to establish a Review consecrated to colonial interests, in this way hoping to satisfy his political aspirations by recalling himself

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