But life is crowded with disappointments.  The foe was looking incredibly small, and young, and meek, a puny thing for a man to wreak his vengeance on.  With long lashes cast down, making a deep shadow on his thin cheeks, he sat wrestling with his portion, from which the cleverest manipulation of knife and fork was powerless to extract an inch of nourishment.  As he gave up the struggle at last, with unmoved countenance, and not even a sigh of complaint, my heart failed me.  I felt that I had snatched bread from the mouth of starving infanthood.  Had not Joseph learned from Innocentina that the boy had lately recovered from a severe illness?  Unspeakable brat that he was, and small favour that he deserved at my hands, I resolved that he should have the best of the next dish when it came round.

This good intention, however, went to supply another stone in that place which seems ever in need of repaving.  Cheese succeeded the veal, a well-meaning but somewhat overpowering cheese, and neither the Brat nor I encouraged it.  It was borne away, intact, and after a short delay appeared a dish of plums, with another of small and attractive cakes, evidently imported from a town.

I saw the boy’s eye brighten as it fell upon the cakes.  He glanced from them to me, as I was offered my choice, and said hastily:  “There is one cake there which I want very much.  I suppose if I tell you which it is, you will eat it.”

“There is also only one which I care for,” said I.  “I wonder if it’s the same?”

“Probably,” said the boy.  “If you take it, there isn’t another which I would be found dead with in my mouth, on a desert island.  And I haven’t had much dinner.”

“I had to wash under the pump,” said I.  “Still, greatness lies in magnanimity.  You shall choose your cake first; but remember, you cannot have it, and eat it, too; so make up your mind quickly which is better.”

“I always thought that a stupid saying,” remarked the Brat, as he helped himself to a ginger-nut with pink icing.  “I have my cake, and when I have eaten it, I take another.”

“Your experience in life has been fortunate,” I replied, contenting myself with the second-best cake.  “But it has not been long.  When you are a man——­”

“A man!  I would rather die—­young than grow up to be one.”

“Indeed?” I exclaimed, surprised at this outburst.

“I hate men.”

“Ah, perhaps then, your experience has not been as fortunate in men as in cakes.”

“No, it hasn’t.  It has been just the opposite.”

“One would say, ‘Thereby hangs a tale.’”

“There does.  But it is not for strangers.”

“I’m not a lover of after-dinner stories.  Here comes the coffee.  Luckily, there’s plenty for us both.  Will you have a cigarette?”

“No, thanks.”

“A cigar, then?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Ah, some boys’ heads won’t stand it.  I’m ashamed to say that I smoked at fourteen.  But perhaps you’re not yet——­”