“A coupé!” said the principal to himself, in astonished admiration. “Speaking of Augustin,” said she: “he charged me with a commission. Have you a pupil named Said?” “To be sure—certainly—a delightful person,” said Moronval. “And a superb voice. You must hear him,” interrupted Labassandre, opening the door and calling Said in a voice of thunder. A frightful howl was heard in reply, followed by the appearance of the delightful person. An awkward schoolboy appeared, whose tunic, like all tunics, and, indeed, like all the clothing of boys of a certain age, was too short and too tight for him; drawn in, in the fashion of a caftan, it told the story at once of an Egyptian in European clothing. His features were regular and delicate enough, but the yellow skin was stretched so tightly over the bones and muscles that the eyes seemed to close of themselves whenever the mouth opened, and _vice versa_. This miserable young man, whose skin was so scanty, inspired you with a strong desire to relieve his sufferings by cutting a slit somewhere. He at once remembered Augustin, who had been his parents’ coachman, and who had given him all his cigar-stumps. “What shall I say to him from you?” asked Constant, in her most amiable tone. “Nothing,” answered Said, promptly. “And your parents, how are they? Have you had any news from them lately?” “No.” “Have they returned to Egypt, as they thought of doing?” “Don’t know: they never write.” It was evident that this pupil of the Moronval Academy had not been educated in the art of conversation, and Jack listened with many misgivings. The indifferent fashion with which this youth spoke of his parents, added to what M. Moronval had previously said of the family influences of which most of his pupils had been deprived since infancy, impressed him unfavorably. It seemed to the child that he was to live among orphans or cast-off children, and would be himself as much cast off as if he had come from Timbuctoo or Otaheite. Again he caught the dress of his mother’s servant. “Tell her to come and see me,” he whispered; “O, tell her to come.” And when the door closed behind her, he understood that one chapter in his life was finished; that his existence as a spoiled child, as a petted baby, had vanished into the past, and those dear and happy days would never again return. While he stood silently weeping, with his face pressed against a window that led into the garden, a hand was extended over his shoulder containing something black. It was Said, who, as a consolation, offered him the stump of a cigar. “Take this: I have a trunk full,” said the interesting young man, shutting his eyes so as to be able to speak. Jack, smiling through his tears, made a sign that he did not dare to accept this singular gift; and Said, whose eloquence was very limited, stood silently planted by his side until M. Moronval returned.