When he arrived in the salon a lackey came behind him, carrying a large linen bag filled with a sweetmeat bought at Seugnot's, the great Parisian confectioner. I always associate these sweetmeats with _bon papa_. They were called _croquignoles_, were small, hard, yet of the consistency of soft chalk when one bit into them, and glazed with pink, white, or yellow. After the salutations, _bon papa_ would take up his position before the mantelpiece and beckon the servant to give him the bag of _croquignoles_. We children, quivering with excitement, each of us already provided with a small basket, stood ready, and as _bon papa_, with a noble gesture, scattered the handfuls of _croquignoles_ far and wide, we flung ourselves upon them, scrambling, falling, and filling our baskets, with much laughter and many recriminations. Then, besides the little case for _maman_, also from Seugnot's, filled with tablets of a delicious _sucre-de-pomme_ in every flavor, were more dignified presents, bracelets and rings for her and for our _Tante de Laisieu_ and boxes of beautiful toys for us. The only cloud cast over these occasions was that after having distributed all his bounties, _bon papa_ sat down, drew a roll of manuscript from his pocket, and composed himself to read in a sonorous voice poems of his own composition. Their theme, invariably, was the delight of reëntering one's family and country, and they were very pompous and very long, sometimes moving _bon papa_ almost to tears. The comic scene of family prayers that followed was pure relief, for even we children felt it comic to see _bon papa_ praying. "And are they good children?" he would ask. "Have they said their prayers?" [Illustration: "The château was one of the oldest in Finisterre"] "Not yet, _mon père_," _maman_ would answer. "They always say their prayers at bedtime." But _bon papa_ was not to be so deterred from yet another ceremony. "Good, good!" he would reply. "We will all say the evening prayers together, then." And when we had all obediently knelt down around the room, _bon papa_ recited the prayers in the same complacent, sonorous voice, making magnificent signs of the cross the while. On one of these occasions we were almost convulsed by poor little Ernest, whom _bon papa_ had taken in his arms, and who was so much alarmed by the great gestures going on over his head that he broke at last into a prolonged wail and had to be carried hastily away.