Adrien reddened, unfastened his garters, and showed his knee to the doctor, who felt it carefully over.

“Good.  Now speak; shout, shout as loud as you can.”  Adrien obeyed.

“That will do.  Now give me your hands.”

The lad held them out; white, soft, and blue-veined hands, like those of a woman.

“Where were you at school in Paris?”

“At Saint Louis.”

“Did your master read his breviary during the night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you did not go straight off to sleep?”

As Adrien made no answer to this, Genestas spoke.  “The master is a worthy priest; he advised me to take my little rascal away on the score of his health,” he told the doctor.

“Well,” answered Benassis, with a clear, penetrating gaze into Adrien’s frightened eyes, “there is a good chance.  Oh, we shall make a man of him yet.  We will live together like a pair of comrades, my boy!  We will keep early hours.  I mean to show this boy of yours how to ride a horse, commandant.  He shall be put on a milk diet for a month or two, so as to get his digestion into order again, and then I will take out a shooting license for him, and put him in Butifer’s hands, and the two of them shall have some chamois-hunting.  Give your son four or five months of out-door life, and you will not know him again, commandant!  How delighted Butifer will be!  I know the fellow; he will take you over into Switzerland, my young friend; haul you over the Alpine passes and up the mountain peaks, and add six inches to your height in six months; he will put some color into your cheeks and brace your nerves, and make you forget all these bad ways that you have fallen into at school.  And after that you can go back to your work; and you will be a man some of these days.  Butifer is an honest young fellow.  We can trust him with the money necessary for traveling expenses and your hunting expeditions.  The responsibility will keep him steady for six months, and that will be a very good thing for him.”

Genestas’ face brightened more and more at every word the doctor spoke.

“Now, let us go in to breakfast.  La Fosseuse is very anxious to see you,” said Benassis, giving Adrien a gentle tap on the cheek.

Genestas took the doctor’s arm and drew him a little aside.  “Then he is not consumptive after all?” he asked.

“No more than you or I.”

“Then what is the matter with him?”

“Pshaw!” answered Benassis; “he is a little run down, that is all.”

La Fosseuse appeared on the threshold of the door, and Genestas noticed, not without surprise, her simple but coquettish costume.  This was not the peasant girl of yesterday evening, but a graceful and well-dressed Parisian woman, against whose glances he felt that he was not proof.  The soldier turned his eyes on the table, which was made of walnut wood.  There was no tablecloth, but the surface might have