“We must take him to the overseer.”

“Or to the police-office.”

“That’s the thing.  Come, little one!”

But the child, frightened by these suggestions of danger, and at the names of police and overseer, cried louder, and drew back toward the parapet.  In vain they tried to persuade him; his fears made him resist the more, and the most eager began to get weary, when the voice of a little boy was heard through the confusion.

“I know him well—­I do,” said he, looking at the lost child; “he belongs in our part of the town.”

“What part is it?”

“Yonder, on the other side of the Boulevards—­Rue des Magasins.”

“And you have seen him before?”

“Yes, yes! he belongs to the great house at the end of the street, where there is an iron gate with gilt points.”

The child quickly raised his head, and stopped crying.  The little boy answered all the questions that were put to him, and gave such details as left no room for doubt.  The other child understood him, for he went up to him as if to put himself under his protection.

“Then you can take him to his parents?” asked the mason, who had listened with real interest to the little boy’s account.

“I don’t care if I do,” replied he; “it’s the way I’m going.”

“Then you will take charge of him?”

“He has only to come with me.”

And, taking up the basket he had put down on the pavement, he set off toward the postern-gate of the Louvre.

The lost child followed him.

“I hope he will take him right,” said I, when I saw them go away.

“Never fear,” replied the mason; “the little one in the blouse is the same age as the other; but, as the saying is, he knows black from white;’ poverty, you see, is a famous schoolmistress!”

The crowd dispersed.  For my part, I went toward the Louvre; the thought came into my head to follow the two children, so as to guard against any mistake.

I was not long in overtaking them; they were walking side by side, talking, and already quite familiar with each other.  The contrast in their dress then struck me.  Little Duval wore one of those fanciful children’s dresses which are expensive as well as in good taste; his coat was skilfully fitted to his figure, his trousers came down in plaits from his waist to his boots of polished leather with mother-of-pearl buttons, and his ringlets were half hid by a velvet cap.  The appearance of his guide, on the contrary, was that of the class who dwell on the extreme borders of poverty, but who there maintain their ground with no surrender.  His old blouse, patched with pieces of different shades, indicated the perseverance of an industrious mother struggling against the wear and tear of time; his trousers were become too short, and showed his stockings darned over and over again; and it was evident that his shoes were not made for him.