"No," I said, "I learned of it later."

He raised his hand and began gently stroking his coat lapel, his fingers
quickly crossing it in a vain search for some imaginary wrinkle, moving
back and forth with a steady persistence, while he watched me, still
amused, still indifferent.

"And might I ask who told you?" he inquired.

"Your brother-in-law," I replied, "My Uncle Jason."

"Dieu!" cried my father, "but I grow careless."

He was looking ruefully at his lapel. Somehow the threads had given way,
and there was a rent in the gray satin.

"Another coat ruined," he observed, and the raillery was gone from his
voice. "How fortunate it is that the evening is well along, and bed time
is nearly here. One coat torn in the brambles, and one with a knife, and
now--But your uncle was right, quite right in telling you. Indeed, I
should have done the same myself. The truth first, my son. Always
remember that."

And he turned again to his coat.

"I told him I did not believe it," I ventured, but the appeal in my
voice, if there was any, passed him quite unnoticed.

"Indeed?" he said. "Brutus, you will put an extra blanket on my bed, for