He had escorted Madame Constant to her carriage, and came back inspired with respectful indulgence for the grief of his new pupil. The coachman, Augustin, had such fine furs, the coupé was so well appointed, that the little fellow, Jack, profited by the magnificence of the equipage. “That is well,” he said, benevolently, to the Egyptian. “Play together; but go to the other room, where it is warmer than here, I shall permit the boys to have a holiday in honor of the new pupil.” Poor little fellow! He was soon surrounded by a noisy crowd, who questioned him without mercy. With his blonde curls, his plaid suit, and bare legs, he sat motionless and timid, wondering at the frantic gestipulations of these little boys of foreign birth, and among them all, looked much like an elegant little Parisian shut up in the great monkey cage in the Jardin des Plantes. This was the idea that occurred to Moronval, but he was aroused from his silent hilarity by the noise of a discussion too animated to be altogether amiable. He heard the puffs and sighs of Labassandre and the solemn little voice of madame. Easily divining the bone of contention, he hastened to the assistance of his wife, whom he found heroically defending the money paid by Madame Constant against the demands of the professors, whose salaries were greatly in arrear. Evariste Moronval, lawyer, politician, and littérateur, had been sent from Pointe-à-Petre in 1848 as secretary to a deputy from Guadaloupe. At that time he was just twenty-five, energetic and ambitious, with considerable ability and cultivation. Being poor, however, he accepted a dependent position which insured his expenses paid to Paris, that marvellous city, the heat of whose lurid flames extends so far over the world that it attracts even the moths from the colonies.