My father burst out laughing, and the young man put his hat up to his mouth. But I could see that above it his eyes had a very good-natured look. My aunt, seeing that her name had been mentioned, walked slowly over to where we stood, still holding her crow on her hand. You have her there before you; judge how she looked. I remember that she frequently dressed in blue, my poor aunt, and I know that she must have dressed simply. Fancy her in a light stuff gown, covered with big blue flowers, with a blue ribbon in her dark hair, and the points of her high-heeled blue slippers peeping out under her stiff white petticoat. Imagine her strolling along the terrace of the château with a villainous black crow perched on her wrist. You'll admit it's a picture. "Is all this true, sister?" said my father. "Is the Chevalier such a scholar?" "He's a clever boy," said my aunt, putting her hand on my head. "It seems to me that at a pinch he could do without a preceptor," said my father. "He has such a learned aunt." "I've taught him all I know. He had begun to ask me questions that I was quite unable to answer." "I should think he might," cried my father, with a broad laugh, "when once he had got into M. Scarron!" "Questions out of Plutarch," said Mlle. de Bergerac, "which you must know Latin to answer." "Would you like to know Latin, M. le Chevalier?" said the young man, looking at me with a smile. "Do you know Latin,--you?" I asked. "Perfectly," said the young man, with the same smile. "Do you want to learn Latin, Chevalier?" said my aunt. "Every gentleman learns Latin," said the young man. I looked at the poor fellow, his dusty shoes and his rusty clothes. "But you're not a gentleman," said I. He blushed up to his eyes. "Ah, I only teach it," he said.