His worn face looked, thought Anne-Hilarion, as if he had been crying--if grown-up people ever did cry, about which he sometimes speculated. But he was too well bred to remark on this, and he merely said, in his native tongue, "I have come to ask you, M. le Vicomte, to take me to France to see my Papa." M. de Soucy, putting his hand to his throat, stared at him a moment. Then he seemed to swallow something, and said, "I am afraid I cannot do that, my child." Anne-Hilarion knew that grown-up people do not always fall in at once with your ideas, and he was prepared for a little opposition. "Your health is perhaps not re-established?" he suggested politely (for he was master of longer words in French than in English). He did not like to refer to M. le Vicomte's lameness in so many words. But M. le Vicomte made a gesture signifying that his health was of no account, so Anne-Hilarion proceeded. "I have brought my money-box," he said, with a very ingratiating smile, and, giving his treasury a shake, he laid it on the table at the Vicomte's elbow. "I do not know how much is in it. Will you open it for me?" M. de Soucy snatched up the letter that was lying before him, got up from his chair, and limped to the window. He stood as if he were looking out over the chimney-pots, but as he had put his hand over his eyes he could not, thought Anne-Hilarion, have seen very much. And gradually it began to dawn upon the little boy that the Vicomte must be offended. He remembered having heard Grandpapa once say how impossible it was to offer to assist him with money, and he felt very hot all over. Had he, in merely mentioning the money-box, done something dreadful? But M. de Soucy suddenly swung round from the window. His face was as white as paper. "Anne," he said, in a queer voice, "money will not bring you to see your father. He . . . my God, I can't tell him. . . . Come here, child. Bring your money-box!" Anne obeyed. "First, we must see whether there is enough in it, must we not? It costs a great deal of money to go to France, and, as you know, I am poor." "I think there is a great deal, but a great deal, in it," said Anne reassuringly, shaking his bank. "Will you not open it and see, M. le Vicomte?" "Yes, I will open it," replied M. de Soucy. "And if there is enough, we will go to France. But if there is not enough, Anne--and I fear that there may not be--we cannot go. Will you abide by my decision?" "Foi de Flavigny," promised the child gravely, giving him his hand. How wonderful are grown-up people! M. le Vicomte had the strong-box open in no time. Together they counted its contents. "Seventeen shillings and fourpence--no, fivepence," announced M. de Soucy. "I am afraid, Anne . . ." M. le Comte drew a long breath. The muscles pulled at the corners of his mouth. "It is not enough?" he inquired rather quaveringly.