“You ask if your father—­”

“I asked if my father left me some money?”

“Yes; he must have left you some.”

“A good deal, don’t you think?  I have often heard people say that my father was rich.  Tell me about how much he has left me!”

“But I don’t know.  You ask—­”

The poor old man felt his heart rent in twain.  Such a question at such a moment!  Yet he thought he knew the boy’s heart, and in that heart there should not be room for such thoughts.

“Pray, dear godfather, tell me,” continued Jean, gently.  “I will explain to you afterward why I ask that.”

“Well, they say your father had 200,000 or 300,000 francs.”

“And is that much?”

“Yes, it is a great deal.”

“And it is all mine?”

“Yes, it is all yours.”

“Oh!  I am glad, because, you know, the day that my father was killed in the war, the Prussians killed, at the same time, the son of a poor woman in Longueval—­old Clemence, you know; and they killed, too, the brother of Rosalie, with whom I used to play when I was quite little.  Well, since I am rich and they are poor, I will divide with Clemence and Rosalie the money my father has left me.”

On hearing these words the Cure rose, took Jean by both hands, and drew him into his arms.  The white head rested on the fair one.  Two large tears escaped from the eyes of the old priest, rolled slowly down his cheeks, and were lost in the furrows of his face.

However, the Cure was obliged to explain to Jean that, though he was his father’s heir, he had not the right of disposing of his heritage as he would.  There would be a family council, and a guardian would be appointed.

“You, no doubt, godfather?”

“No, not I, my child; a priest has not the right of exercising the functions of a guardian.  They will, I think, choose Monsieur Lenient, the lawyer in Souvigny, who was one of your father’s best friends.  You can speak to him and tell him what you wish.”

M. Lenient was eventually appointed guardian, and Jean urged his wishes so eagerly and touchingly that the lawyer consented to deduct from the income a sum of 2,400 francs, which, every year till Jean came of age, was divided between old Clemence and little Rosalie.

Under these circumstances, Madame de Lavardens was perfect.  She went to the Abbe and said: 

“Give Jean to me, give him to me entirely till he has finished his studies.  I will bring him back to you every year during the holidays.  It is not I who am rendering you a service; it is a service which I ask of you.  I cannot imagine any greater good fortune for my son than to have Jean for a companion.  I must resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a time.  Paul is bent upon being a soldier and going up to Saint-Cyr.  It is only in Paris that I can obtain the necessary masters.  I will take the two children there; they will study together under my own eyes like brothers, and I will make no difference between them; of that you may be sure.”