“Monsieur, I hope that you will excuse me for what I am going to say, but it is my attachment for you and our young marquis that has decided me to speak.” “I am aware of your attachment, Jasmin, although the proofs of it which you have given me have sometimes had unfortunate results.” As he spoke, Monsieur de Grandvilain scratched the place where his ear should have been. “Well, what have you to tell me?” Jasmin glanced about him, walked closer to his master, and said in a low voice and with a mysterious air: “Let me tell you, monsieur, that your son is melting----” The old man fell back on his couch and gazed anxiously at his servant, exclaiming: “Melting! my son! Great heaven! has he fallen into the stove?” “When I say melting, my dear master, I mean simply falling away, that he has lost five ounces, neither more nor less, since the day he was born.” “The devil take you, Jasmin, you gave me a horrible fright! I wonder if you will never be any less stupid!” “It was my attachment for you, monsieur, that made me think that I ought to tell you. Turlurette has weighed our little Chérubin, and she is sure of what she says. She doesn’t dare to tell madame, but I thought it was better to tell you; for if the child goes on like this, in a few months he won’t weigh anything at all.” Monsieur de Grandvilain sadly shook his head. “In truth,” he said, “my son is not making any progress. He is taking on a yellowish color that surprises me, for both his mother and I are very white. Ah! my poor Jasmin, I am beginning to think that we should have children when we are young, because then they inherit our strength.” “Nonsense, monsieur! You are strong enough! You are a perfect horse when you choose! Our Chérubin was magnificent when he was born, as you must remember. If he is doing badly now, it’s only because he doesn’t eat enough. Madame fondles him and pets him--that’s all very well; but perhaps the little rascal would prefer some wine and a cutlet.” “A cutlet! Are you mad, Jasmin? Whoever heard of giving cutlets to children three months old?” “Perhaps it would be better for them than milk, no one knows. If I was a nurse, I’d try the experiment.” “In truth, Jasmin, you recall to my mind the fact that the grandfather of our good Henri IV gave his son wine to drink a few moments after he was born; and it did the child no harm; far from it, for Henri IV was a regular devil in every way. Judging from that, I believe that my son, who is past three months, might safely swallow a drop of generous wine.” “Surely, monsieur, wine can never do any harm, and you have such good wine! Our little Chérubin, instead of turning yellow, will become a very devil like the great king; and if with that you would venture to let him suck a cutlet----” “The wine will be enough, with a little beef juice perhaps. If only madame la marquise will consent to let the child change his food!”