In Search Of A Son Part 5

CHAPTER VII.

VACATION.

Monsieur and Madame Dalize could not help smiling in listening to this frank declaration of their daughter: "It will be Paul Solange."

Monsieur Roger smiled in his turn, and said,--

"What! has Miss Miette already made her choice?"

"It is an amusing bit of childishness," answered Madame Dalize, "as you see. But, really, Miss Miette, although she teases him often, has a very kindly feeling for our friend Paul Solange."

"And who is this happy little mortal?" asked Monsieur Roger.

"A friend of Albert's," said Monsieur Dalize.

"Albert, your son?" said Monsieur Roger, to whom this name and this word were always painful. Then he added,--

"I should like very much to see him, your son."

"You shall soon see him, my dear Roger," answered Monsieur Dalize.

"Vacation begins to-morrow morning, and to-morrow evening Albert will be at Sainte-Gemme."

"With Paul?" asked Miss Miette.

"Why, certainly," said Madame Dalize, laughing; "with your friend Paul Solange."

Monsieur Roger asked,--

"How old is Albert at present?"

"In his thirteenth year," said Monsieur Dalize.

Monsieur Roger remained silent. He was thinking that his little George, if he had lived, would also be big now, and, like the son of Monsieur Dalize, would be in his thirteenth year.

Next day the horses were harnessed, and all four went down to the station to meet the five-o'clock train. When Albert and Paul jumped out from the train, and had kissed Monsieur and Madame Dalize and Miss Miette, they looked with some surprise at Monsieur Roger, whom they did not know.

"Albert," said Monsieur Dalize, showing Monsieur Roger to his son, "why don't you salute our friend Roger?"

"Is this Monsieur Roger?" cried Albert, and the tone of his voice showed that his father had taught him to know and to love the man who now, with his eyes full of tears, was pressing him to his heart.

"And you too, Paul, don't you want to embrace our friend?" said Monsieur Dalize.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Yes, sir," answered Paul Solange, with a sad and respectful gravity, which struck Monsieur Roger and at once called up his affection.

On the way, Monsieur Roger, who was looking with emotion upon the two young people, but whose eyes were particularly fixed upon Paul, said, in a low voice, to Monsieur Dalize,--

"They are charming children."

"And it is especially Paul whom you think charming; acknowledge it,"

answered Monsieur Dalize, in the same tone.

"Why should Paul please me more than Albert?" asked Monsieur Roger.

"Ah, my poor friend," replied Monsieur Dalize, "because the father of Albert is here and the father of Paul is far away."

Monsieur Dalize was right. Monsieur Roger, without wishing it, had felt his sympathies attracted more strongly to this child, who was, for the time being, fatherless. He bent over to Monsieur Dalize, and asked,--

"Where is Paul's father?"

"In Martinique, where he does a big business in sugar-cane and coffee.

Monsieur Solange was born in France, and he decided that his son should come here to study."

"I can understand that," replied Monsieur Roger; "but what a sorrow this exile must cause the mother of this child!"

"Paul has no mother: she died several years ago."

"Poor boy!" murmured Monsieur Roger, and his growing friendship became all the stronger.

That evening, after dinner, when coffee was being served, Miss Miette, who was in a very good humor, was seized with the desire to tease her little friend Paul.

"Say, Paul," she asked, from one end of the table to the other, "how many prizes did you take this year?"

Paul, knowing that an attack was coming, began to smile, and answered, good-naturedly,--

"You know very well, you naughty girl. You have already asked me, and I have told you."

"Ah, that is true," said Miette, with affected disdain: "you took one prize,--one poor little prize,--bah!"

Then, after a moment, she continued,--

"That is not like my brother: he took several prizes, _he_ did,--a prize for Latin, a prize for history, a prize for mathematics, a prize for physical science, and a prize for chemistry. Well, well! and you,--you only took one prize; and that is the same one you took last year!"

"Yes," said Paul, without minding his friend's teasing; "but last year I took only the second prize, and this year I took the first."

"You have made some progress," said Miss Miette, sententiously.

Monsieur Roger had been interested in the dialogue.

"May I ask what prize Master Paul Solange has obtained?"

"A poor little first prize for drawing only," answered Miette.

"Ah, you love drawing?" said Monsieur Roger, looking at Paul.

But it was Miette who answered: "He loves nothing else."