One day a man, who came to tune the pianoforte, extolled the merits of an AEolian harp. D’Argenton immediately ordered one made on a gigantic scale, and placed it on his roof. From that moment poor little Jack’s life was a burden to him. The melancholy wail of the instrument, like a soul in purgatory, pursued him in his dreams. To the child’s great relief, the poet was equally disturbed, and the harp was ordered to the end of the garden; but its shrieks and moans were still heard. D’Argenton fiercely commanded that the instrument should be buried, which was done, and the earth heaped upon it as over some mad animal. All these various occupations failing to amuse her poet, Charlotte reluctantly decided to invite some of his old friends, but was repaid for her sacrifice by witnessing D’Argenton’s joy on being told that Dr. Hirsch and Labassandre were soon to visit them. When Jack entered the house, a few days later, he heard the voices of his old professors. The child felt an emotion of sick terror, for the sounds recalled the memory of so many wretched hours. He slipped quietly into the garden, there to await the dinner-bell. “Come, gentlemen,” said Charlotte, smilingly, as she appeared on the terrace,—her large white apron indicating that as a good housekeeper she by no means disdained on occasion to lay aside her lace ruffles and take an active part. The professors promptly obeyed this summons to dinner, and greeted Jack as he took his seat with every appearance of cordiality. Two large doors opened on the lawn, beyond which lay the forest. “You are a lucky fellow,” said Labassandre. “Tomorrow I shall be in that hot, dusty town, eating a miserable dinner.” “It is a good thing to be certain of having even a miserable dinner,” grumbled Dr. Hirsch. “Why not remain here for a time?” said D’Argenton, cordially. “There is a room for each of you; the cellar has some good wine in it—” “And we can make excursions,” interrupted Charlotte, gayly. “But what would become of my rehearsals?” said Labassandre. “But you, Dr. Hirsch,” continued Charlotte, “you are tied down to the opera-house!” “Certainly not; and my patients are nearly all in the country at this season.” The idea of Dr. Hirsch having any patients was very funny, and yet no one laughed. “Well, decide!” cried the poet, “In the first place, you would be doing me a favor, and could prescribe for me.” “To be sure. The physician here knows nothing of your constitution, while I can soon set you on your feet again. I am sick of the Institute and of Moronval, and never wish to see either more.” Thereupon the doctor launched forth in a philippic against the school which supported him. Moronval was a thorough humbug, he never paid anybody, and every one was giving him up; the affair of Mâdou had done him great injury; and finally Dr. Hirsch went so far as to compliment Jack on his energetic departure.