Four days later Mr. Elphinstone and his grandson were breakfasting alone in the room where Anne-Hilarion had remained, so unsuitably attired, to hear matters not primarily intended for the ears of little boys. And now the Comte de Flavigny was seated again at that very table, his legs dangling, eating his porridge, not with any great appetite, but because it was commanded him. And Mr. Elphinstone did the same, glancing across now and again with his kind blue eyes to observe his grandson's progress. The suns of India, where so much of his life had been passed, had done little more than fade his apple cheeks to a complexion somewhat less sanguine than would have been theirs under Scottish skies. His very precise British attire bore no traces of his long sojourn in the East, save that the brooch in the lace at his throat was of Oriental workmanship, and that the pigeon's-blood ruby on his finger had an exotic look--and an equally exotic history. Anne-Hilarion knew that it had been given by a rajah to his grandfather, instead of an elephant, and never ceased to regret so disastrous a preference. If James Elphinstone had known, when he left India, that in years to come an elephant would be so fervently desired in Cavendish Square, it is possible that he might have considered the bringing of one with him, such was his attitude (justly condemned by Mrs. Saunders) towards Janet's child. At this moment, in fact, he was meditating some extra little pleasure for Anne-Hilarion, to make up for his father's departure of two days ago. M. le Comte, though he had a certain philosophical turn of mind of his own, fretted a good deal after M. le Marquis, and his grandfather was wondering whether to assign to that cause the very slow rate at which his porridge was disappearing this morning. "Come, child, I shall be finished long before you," he observed at last. Anne-Hilarion sighed, and, addressing himself once more to the fray, made great play with his spoon, finally announcing, in true Scots phrase, that he had finished 'them.' "That's right," said the old gentleman. "Some more milk, my bairn? Bring your cup." Anne slipped down and presented his mug. "I think we were going out this morning, Grandpapa," he observed, with his little engaging air, watching the filling of the receptacle. "So we were, my lamb. And we were going to buy something. What was it?" "A goldfish," whispered the little boy. "A goldfish!" He gave his grandfather's arm a sudden ecstatic squeeze, and climbed back to his place. "To be sure, a goldfish," was beginning Mr. Elphinstone, when at that moment in came a letter, brought by Lal Khan, the dusky, turbaned bearer--source, once, of much infantile terror to M. le Comte, but now one of his greatest friends. On him Anne-Hilarion bestowed, ere he salaamed himself out again, one of his sudden smiles. Mr. Elphinstone, after hunting vainly for his spectacles, opened the letter. It drew from him an exclamation.