“Had Jack been to the wardrobe also?” he said to himself. The boy was delighted at the sensation he had created. “And I have more of the same kind,” he added, tapping his pocket. And then he whispered in his companion’s ear, “It is for a present that I mean to buy Zénaïde.” Chariot said, mechanically, “Is it?” and turned away with a smile. The innkeeper fingered the gold piece with some uneasiness. “Hurry,” said Jack, “or I shall be late.” “I wish, my boy,” said Chariot, “that you could have remained with me until my boat left, which will not be for an hour.” And he gently drew the lad toward the Loire. It was easily done, for, coming out from the cabaret into the cold air, the wine the child had drank made him giddy. It seemed to him that his head weighed a thousand pounds. This did not last long, however. “Hark!” he said; “the bell has stopped, I think.” They turned back. Jack was terrified, for it was the first time that he had ever been late at the Works. But Chariot was in despair. “It is my fault,” he reiterated. He declared that he would see the Director and explain matters, and was altogether so utterly miserable, that Jack was obliged to console him by saying that it was of no great consequence, after all; that he could afford to be marked ‘absent’ for once. “I will go with you to the boat.” The boy was so gratified by what he believed to be the good effect of his words on Chariot, that he enlarged on the noble nature of Père Rondic and of Clarisse. “O, had you seen her this morning, you would have pitied her. She was so pale that she looked as if she were dead.” Chariot started. “And she ate nothing. I am afraid she will be ill. And she never spoke.” “Poor woman!” said Chariot, with a sigh of relief which Jack took for one of sorrow. They reached the wharf. The boat was not there. A thick fog covered the river from one shore to the other. “Let us go in here,” said Chariot It was a little wooden shed, intended as a shelter for workmen while waiting in bad weather. Clarisse knew this shed very well, and the old woman who sold brandy and coffee in the corner had seen Madame Rondic many a time when she crossed the Loire. “Let us take a drop of brandy to keep out the cold,” said Chariot. At that moment a shrill whistle was heard; it was the boat for Saint Nazarre. “Good-bye, Jack, and a thousand thanks for your good advice!” “Don’t mention it,” said the lad, heartily; “but pray give up gambling.”