But it is natural to grate a little against that which charms us; men call it wisdom.

Ursus had been, in his relations with Gwynplaine and Dea, almost a father and a mother.  Grumbling all the while, he had brought them up; grumbling all the while, he had nourished them.  His adoption of them had made the hut roll more heavily, and he had been oftener compelled to harness himself by Homo’s side to help to draw it.

We may observe, however, that after the first few years, when Gwynplaine was nearly grown up, and Ursus had grown quite old, Gwynplaine had taken his turn, and drawn Ursus.

Ursus, seeing that Gwynplaine was becoming a man, had cast the horoscope of his deformity. “It has made your fortune!” he had told him.

This family of an old man and two children, with a wolf, had become, as they wandered, a group more and more intimately united.  There errant life had not hindered education.  “To wander is to grow,” Ursus said.  Gwynplaine was evidently made to exhibit at fairs.  Ursus had cultivated in him feats of dexterity, and had encrusted him as much as possible with all he himself possessed of science and wisdom.

Ursus, contemplating the perplexing mask of Gwynplaine’s face, often growled,—­

“He has begun well.”  It was for this reason that he had perfected him with every ornament of philosophy and wisdom.

He repeated constantly to Gwynplaine,—­

“Be a philosopher.  To be wise is to be invulnerable.  You see what I am, I have never shed a tears.  This is the result of my wisdom.  Do you think that occasion for tears has been wanting, had I felt disposed to weep?”

Ursus, in one of his monologues in the hearing of the wolf, said,—­

“I have taught Gwynplaine everything, Latin included.  I have taught Dea nothing, music included.”

He had taught them both to sing.  He had himself a pretty talent for playing on the oaten reed, a little flute of that period.  He played on it agreeably, as also on the chiffonie, a sort of beggar’s hurdy-gurdy, mentioned in the Chronicle of Bertrand Duguesclin as the “truant instrument,” which started the symphony.  These instruments attracted the crowd.  Ursus would show them the chiffonie, and say, “It is called organistrum in Latin.”

He had taught Dea and Gwynplaine to sing, according to the method of Orpheus and of Egide Binchois.  Frequently he interrupted the lessons with cries of enthusiasm, such as “Orpheus, musician of Greece!  Binchois, musician of Picardy!”

These branches of careful culture did not occupy the children so as to prevent their adoring each other.  They had mingled their hearts together as they grew up, as two saplings planted near mingle their branches as they become trees.

“No matter,” said Ursus.  “I will marry them.”

Then he grumbled to himself,—­

“They are quite tiresome with their love.”