"Did you win any?" asked his wife. "Oscar stood second in philosophy."

This remark imposed silence for a moment on Clapart; but presently he
began again.

"Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, you know why. She'll
try to set her husband against him. Oscar to step into his shoes as
steward of Presles! Why he'd have to learn agriculture, and know how
to survey."

"He can learn."

"He--that pussy cat! I'll bet that if he does get a place down there,
it won't be a week before he does some doltish thing which will make
the count dismiss him."

"Good God! how can you be so bitter against a poor child who is full
of good qualities, sweet-tempered as an angel, incapable of doing harm
to any one, no matter who."

Just then the cracking of a postilion's whip and the noise of a
carriage stopping before the house was heard, this arrival having
apparently put the whole street into a commotion. Clapart, who heard
the opening of many windows, looked out himself to see what was
happening.

"They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," he cried, in a
tone of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy.

"Good heavens! what can have happened to him?" cried the poor mother,