“I am not singing, sir; I’m talking negro talk!” and Mâdou confided to his friend his intention of running away from school. He had thought of it for some time, and was only waiting for pleasant weather; and now he meant to go to Dahomey, and find Kérika. If Jack would go with him, they would go to Marseilles on foot, and then go on board some vessel. Nothing could happen to them, for he had his amulet all safe. Jack made many objections. Dahomey had no charms for him. He thought of the copper basin, and the terrible heads, with an emotion of sick horror; and, besides, how could he go so far from his mother? “Good,” said Mâdou; “you can remain here, and I will go alone.” “And when?” “To-morrow,” answered the negro, resolutely closing his eyes as if he knew that he would need all the strength that sleep could give him. The next morning, when Jack passed through the large recitation-room, he saw Mâdou busily scrubbing the floor, and concluded that he had relinquished his project. The classes were busy for an hour or two, when Moronval appeared. “Where is Mâdou?” he asked abruptly. “He has gone to market,” answered madame. Jack, however, said to himself that Mâdou would not return. In a little while Moronval came back and asked the same question. His wife answered, uneasily, that she could not understand the boy’s prolonged absence. Dinner-time came, but no Mâdou, no vegetables, and no meat. “Something must have happened,” said Madame Moronval, more indulgent than her impatient husband, who paced up and down the corridor with his rod in his hand, while the hungry schoolboys were quite ready to devour each other. Finally, Madame Moronval sallied forth herself to buy some provisions; and on her return, burdened with packages, she was greeted by an enthusiastic shout from the children, who, when the fierceness of their hunger abated, ventured on surmises as to Mâdou’s whereabouts. Moronval shrewdly suspected the truth. “How much money did he have?” he asked. “Fifteen francs,” was his wife’s timid answer. “Fifteen francs! Then it is certain he has run away!” “But where has he gone?” asked the doctor; “he could hardly reach Dahomey with that amount.” Moronval scowled fiercely, and went to report to the police, for it was very essential to him that the child should be found, or, at all events, prevented from reaching Marseilles. Moronval was in wholesome fear of Monsieur Bonfils. “The world is so wicked, you know,” he said to his wife; “the boy might make some complaints which would injure the school.” Consequently, in making his report at the police office, he stated that Mâdou had carried away a large sum. “But,” he added, assuming an air of indifference, “the money part of the matter is of very little importance, compared to the dangers that the poor child runs—this dethroned king without country or people;” and Moronval dashed away a tear. “We will find him, my good sir,” said the official; “have no anxiety.”