“Prizes! he has whatever he wants; he has only to ask, they refuse him nothing.” “You don’t understand me; has he obtained any prizes for his work, I mean; is he strong in Latin, Greek, and history?” Jasmin was slightly embarrassed by those questions; he coughed, and faltered a few words which could not be understood. But the notary, who attributed his embarrassment to other causes, continued: “I am talking about things you don’t understand, eh, my old Jasmin? Latin and Greek and such matters are not within your scope. However, when I have a few moments to myself, I will come to you, and you must take me to see your young marquis.” Jasmin went away, muttering: “The deuce! the deuce! if he goes to see my little Chérubin some day, he won’t be very well content with his studies; but it isn’t my fault if monsieur le marquis refuses to leave his nurse. That notary keeps talking to me about food for the mind; it seems to me that when a child eats four meals a day with a good appetite, his mind ought not to be any more hungry than his stomach, unless it doesn’t want to be fed.” One day, however, after a visit to the notary, when he had again urged the old valet to commend the young marquis to his teachers, Jasmin started at once for Gagny, saying to himself on the way: “I am an old brute! I leave my master’s son in ignorance; for after all, I know how to read myself, and I believe that Chérubin doesn’t even know that. Certainly this state of things can’t be allowed to go on. Later, people will say: ‘Jasmin took no care of the child who was placed in his charge. Jasmin is unworthy of the late marquis’s confidence.’--I don’t propose that people shall say that of me. I am sixty years old now, but that’s no reason for being an idiot. I propose to show my strength of character.” When Jasmin arrived at Nicole’s, he found her at work in the house, while Jacquinot sat half asleep in an old easy-chair. “My friends,” said Jasmin, entering the room with a very busy air, and rolling his eyes about, “things can’t remain like this; we must make a complete change.” Nicole gazed at the old servant and said: “You want to change our house over; you think this room is too dark? Dear me! we’re used to it, you see.” “Ain’t we going to drink a glass?” said Jacquinot, rising, and rubbing his eyes. “In a minute, Jacquinot, in a minute.--My friends, you don’t understand me. I am talking about your foster-child, my young master, to whom you only give such food as you yourselves eat; do you not?” “Ain’t he satisfied, the dear child?” cried Nicole. “Bless my soul! I will give him whatever he wants; all he has got to do is to speak. I will make him tarts, cakes----” “It isn’t that, Nicole, it isn’t that sort of food that I’m talking about. It’s Chérubin’s mind that needs a lot of things.” “Mind? Something light, I suppose? I will make him some cream cheese.”