But Lolo, being a little Florentine, was never troubled by externals, or daunted by mere sofas and chairs; he stood and looked around him with perfect composure; and Moufflou, whose attitude, when he was not romping, was always one of magisterial gravity, sat on his haunches and did the same. Soon the foreigner he had seen in the forenoon entered and spoke to him, and led him into another chamber, where stretched on a couch was a little wan-faced boy about seven years old; a pretty boy, but so pallid, so wasted, so helpless. This poor little boy was heir to a great name and a great fortune, but all the science in the world could not make him strong enough to run about among the daisies, or able to draw a single breath without pain. A feeble smile lit up his face as he saw Moufflou and Lolo; then a shadow chased it away. [Illustration: MOUFFLOU ACQUITTED HIMSELF ABLY AS EVER.] “Little boy is lame like me,” he said, in a tongue Lolo did not understand. “Yes, but he is a strong little boy, and can move about, as perhaps the suns of his country will make you do,” said the gentleman, who was the poor little boy’s father. “He has brought you his poodle to amuse you. What a handsome dog! is it not?” “Oh, _bufflins_!” said the poor little fellow, stretching out his wasted hands to Moufflou, who submitted his leonine crest to the caress. Then Lolo went through the performance, and Moufflou acquitted himself ably as ever; and the little invalid laughed and shouted with his tiny thin voice, and enjoyed it all immensely, and rained cakes and biscuits on both the poodle and its master. Lolo crumped the pastries with willing white teeth, and Moufflou did no less. Then they got up to go, and the sick child on the couch burst into fretful lamentations and outcries. “I want the dog! I will have the dog!” was all he kept repeating. But Lolo did not know what he said, and was only sorry to see him so unhappy. “You shall have the dog to-morrow,” said the gentleman, to pacify his little son; and he hurried Lolo and Moufflou out of the room, and consigned them to a servant, having given Lolo five francs this time. “Why, Moufflou,” said Lolo, with a chuckle of delight, “if we could find a foreigner every day, we could eat meat at supper, Moufflou, and go to the theatre every evening!” And he and his crutch clattered home with great eagerness and excitement, and Moufflou trotted on his four frilled feet, the blue bow with which Bice had tied up his curls on the top of his head, fluttering in the wind. But, alas! even his five francs could bring no comfort at home. He found his whole family wailing and mourning in utterly inconsolable distress. Tasso had drawn his number that morning, and the number was seven, and he must go and be a conscript for three years.