"The same life we have led, father. When we go out to walk, he goes with us; if we remain at home, he remains. We make him read to us a good deal,--he reads so well and with so much expression. Sometimes we play duets together, for he is an excellent musician. He is very well up, too, in history, and it is very pleasant and instructive to hear him talk on such subjects, and lastly, he is always trying to do us some little service, though he doesn't always succeed, for his poor sight makes him very awkward. But that is his only fault, my dear father," added Sabine, with charming ingenuousness, "and though he surely cannot be held accountable for it, Suzanne is pitiless toward it, for she is always making fun of him." "You do not make fun of him, I am sure." "It would be cruel in me to do that, father, for he tries to be the first to laugh at his mishaps, though they worry him terribly. It is so sad to be almost blind. And this very evening--you can judge from that how courageous he is--he scalded his hand nearly to the bone with boiling water. You will see, father, what a dreadful burn it was. Well, for all that, M. Onésime had self-control and courage enough not only to make no ado about it, but also to go on with his reading as if nothing had happened, so it was only by the merest chance that we discovered the accident nearly an hour afterward." "Really, M. Onésime seems to be quite a hero." "A hero; no, father, for, as we were saying this evening, only persons who kill and spill blood are called heroes, while M. Onésime--" "Spills boiling water." "Why, father!" "Why do you look at me so reproachfully?" "It seems strange that you, too, who are always so just--" "Why, what great injustice have I been guilty of, my child?" "You are making light of a very serious matter, father, for even Suzanne turned pale with fright when she saw his burn, though she is always ridiculing him in the most merciless manner. And why? Because he has such a horror of everything that is cruel and bloodthirsty. Only this evening we had quite a discussion with Suzanne, and M. Onésime was on my side, and he is on my side only when I am right, so I feel sure in advance that you will agree with us." "What was the subject of this discussion, my child?" "M. Onésime was reading, in that newspaper you see over there on the table, an account of the escape of a famous privateer named Captain l'Endurci. You have read it too, perhaps, father." "No," replied Cloarek, repressing an involuntary movement of surprise and alarm; "no, my child. Well, what do you and M. Onésime think of the corsair?" "His cruelty shocked us, dear father; for would you believe it? to regain his liberty he killed two men and severely wounded a third. Suzanne approved his conduct, claiming that he had behaved in a very brave and heroic manner, but M. Onésime said, and this proves the generosity of his heart--" "Well, what did M. Onésime say?"