And indeed the two boys, considering their great dissimilarity of character, were unusually good friends. The small Vicomte, as his relatives soon discovered, was endued with a temper which was rarely ruffled. He never sulked, as Gilbert sometimes did, nor, in spite of his high spirits, did he often fly into a rage—partly, perhaps, because he seemed to get what he wanted with so little trouble. For in a quite unassertive and natural way he tyrannised over Gilbert, who, finding himself in the position of a host, continued to bestow on him delightedly many of his choicest treasures. It was the same with the menials, who adored Monsieur le Vicomte with a worship which their sense of what was due to Monsieur le Comte obliged them to keep within bounds. Conscious of the bondage into which the household was gradually falling, and having approached her husband with small satisfaction, the Marquise one day confided to M. des Graves her fear that Louis was getting spoilt. The Curé asked her for a definition of a spoilt child. “I mean a child to whom every one gives way,” she answered. “Now Louis is so attractive that one gives him all he wants—and surely that is not good for him, Father?” “Does he seem to you any the worse for it, Madame?” asked the Curé, with a little smile. Madame de Château-Foix was constrained to confess that he did not, but added that she could not suppose that he would remain indefinitely unharmed. The priest took a turn about the long library, where his pupils’ lesson-books were still scattered on the table. “I have a theory about Louis, Madame,” he said, looking at her in his rather masterful fashion. “Time may show me that I am wrong, but I believe the boy to be one of those rare—those very rare—natures, for whom it is good to be happy.” The Marquise was shocked. “Good for children to have what they want!” she exclaimed, bringing the particular down to the general. “And for grown-up people too, Madame,” returned the priest with hardihood. “Sometimes. But such people are rare.” “Fortunately!” ejaculated Madame de Château-Foix indignantly, and did not pursue the conversation, but retired to reflect on the ridiculous ideas possessed by the two members of her court of appeal—the doctrinaire and the celibate. She must take her own stand, and Louis should not be spoilt. But spoilt he was, for all that. * * * * * *