The mixed and oblique motives of human nature—­the boy’s will—­worked like gigantic passions.

She had said very little to me in the boat, and I had said very little to her; not realizing that the camp talk, in which she took no part, separated us in a new way.

Sitting alone on the steps I held this imaginary conversation with her.

“I am going to France!”

“You, monsieur?”

“Yes, I!”

“How are you going?”

“I don’t know; but I am going!”

“The Duke of Orleans did not mention such a thing.”

“Bother the Duke of Orleans!”

“When are you going?”

“Now!”

“But it may not be best to go at this time.”

“It is always best to go where you are!”

“Monsieur, do not throw away your future on an unconsidered move.”

“Madame, I will throw away my eternity!”

Then I went back through the tunnel to the beach, stripped, and took a plunge to clear my head and warm my blood, rubbing off with my shirt.

On reaching my room the first thing I did was to make a bundle of everything I considered necessary and desirable.  There was no reason for doing this before lying down; but with an easier mind I closed my eyes; and opened them to find sunset shining through the windows, and Doctor Chantry keeping guard in an arm-chair at my side.

“Nature has taken her revenge on you, my lad,” said he.  “And now I am going to take mine.”

“I have slept all day!”

“Renegades who roam the woods all night must expect to sleep all day.”

“How do you know I have been in the woods all night?”

“I heard you slipping up the tunnel stairs without any shoes on at daylight.  I have not been able to sleep two nights on account of you.”

“Then why don’t you go to bed yourself, my dear master?”

“Because I am not going to let you give me the slip another time.  I am responsible for you:  and you will have me on your back when you go prowling abroad again.”

“Again?” I questioned innocently.

“Yes, again, young sir!  I have been through your luggage, and find that you have packed changes of clothing and things necessary and unnecessary to a journey,—­even books.”

“I hope you put them neatly together”—­

“Nothing of the kind.  I scattered them.”

“Do you want me to go bare into the world?” I laughed.

“Lazarre,” said my master, “you were a good lad, studious and zealous beyond anything I ever saw.”

“And now I am bad and lazy.”

“You have dropped your books and taken to wild ways.”

“There is one thing, dear master, I haven’t done:  I haven’t written poetry.”

He blinked and smiled, and felt in his breast pocket, but thought better of it, and forebore to draw the paper out.  There was no escaping his tenacious grip.  He sat by and exercised me in Latin declensions while I dressed.  We had our supper together.  I saw no member of the household except the men, Pierre and Jean.  Doctor Chantry ordered a mattress put in my room and returned there with me.