But are we quite sure that he spoke so innocently. The minds of children are not always so transparent as we believe; and it is difficult to say when they understand matters that go on about them, and when they do not. That mysterious growth that is constantly going on within them, has unexpected seasons of bursting into flower, and they suddenly mass together the disconnected fragments of information they have acquired and intuitively attain the result. Had Jack, therefore, no perception of the hidden rage that filled the heart of his professor when he questioned him in regard to their kind friend? Jack did not like D’Argenton; in addition to his first dislike, he was now actuated by strong jealousy. His mother was too much occupied by this man. When he passed the day with her, she in her turn plied him with questions, and asked if his teacher never spoke to him of her. “Never,” said Jack, calmly. And yet that very day D’Argenton had desired him to present his compliments to the countess, with a copy of his poems; but Jack at first forgot the volume, and finally lost it, as much from cunning as from heedlessness. Thus, while these two dissimilar natures were attracted toward each other, the child stood between them suspicious and defiant, as if he already foresaw what the future would bring about. Every two weeks Jack dined with his mother, sometimes alone with her, sometimes with their friend. They went to the theatre in the evening, or to a concert, and Jack was sent back to school with his pockets full of dainties, in which the other children shared. One evening, as he entered his mother’s house, he saw the dining-table laid for three, and a gorgeous display of flowers and crystal. His mother met him, exquisitely dressed, wearing in her hair sprays of white lilacs, like those that filled the vases. The blazing fire alone lighted the salon, into which she gayly drew the boy, as she said, “Guess who is here!” “O, I know very well!” exclaimed Jack in delight; “it is our good friend.”