Pierrot leaned over towards Denyse, who was seated next him, and said, in an undertone with deep gratitude, "It's awfully good of you to stick up for me always, and I can't tell you how fond I am of you--more than any of the others." She answered with a smile; and in an almost maternal way, said: "That's very wrong! You ought to be much fonder of uncle, and of grandmamma, too, than you are of me." "Oh, well, to begin with, there's no rule for that, and then, too, I didn't mean that at all. I meant that I am fonder of you than all the others are; and, you know, there's some of them very fond of you; there's Paul, for instance, Paul de Rueille--I'm sure he likes you better than he does Bertrade, or his children, better than anyone--even God!" "Do be quiet!" said Bijou, alarmed, and looking round to see if anyone had heard. "Don't be in a fright! They are all busy worrying each other; they are not troubling about us. It's quite true what I said, you know; and then Jean, too, and Henry, and Monsieur Giraud! There's scarcely anyone, except Abbe Courteil, who does not follow you about to every corner you go; and then--" "You are talking rubbish! how can you imagine--" "I don't imagine it--I see it!--and I see it, because it annoys me!" Just at this moment M. de Jonzac's voice was heard. "Oh, no!" he was saying, "I am convinced that he has no idea that Renan ever existed. He does not know a thing--not a single thing." "Oh, yes," put in the tutor, in his usual gentle and conciliatory way, "as regards Renan, I am sure that he knows. Only three or four days ago I had occasion to quote him as the author of the 'Origin of Language.'" "Well, I would wager that he does not even remember his name--Pierrot!" called out M. de Jonzac. The poor lad, entirely absorbed in his conversation with Bijou, had no idea that he was being discussed. On hearing his name called, he turned his head towards his father, vaguely uneasy. "Pierrot," asked M. de Jonzac, "who was Renan?" "Ah! that's it, is it," said Pierrot to Bijou, "now they're beginning the examination again. Renan--who in the world was he now?" "You do not know who Renan was, do you?" asked M. de Jonzac blandly. "No, father, I don't," replied the boy. "What?" exclaimed Giraud, surprised; "why, only the other day we were talking about him." "About him?" repeated Pierrot, quite astounded, "do you mean to say that I was talking about the man?" "Why, yes--come now; try to remember--I mentioned one of his works." Bijou, who had just before only been listening with one ear to what Pierrot had been telling her, so that with the other she could keep up with the general conversation, remembered the title that had been quoted. She was looking at her plate, apparently taken up with the strawberries, which she was rolling about in the sugar. "The 'Origin of Language,'" she whispered very quietly. "Come now, have a good try," repeated the tutor. "I mentioned one of M. Renan's books to you--which one?"