"Elephants?" As she asked the question Edgar's mother remembered her promise. She was to tell him all about the elephant hunts and the baron's other adventures that very night. And so the simple child had crept into her room and in unquestioning faith had waited for her until he had dropped asleep. The absurdity of it enraged her, or rather she was angry with herself, and for that reason she wanted to outshriek the tiny whisper of her conscience telling her she had done a shameful wrong. "Go to bed at once, you nuisance!" she cried. Edgar stared at her. Why was she so angry? He hadn't done anything wrong. But his very amazement only made her angrier. "Go to bed at once," she shouted, in a rage, because she felt how unjust she was to the child. Edgar went without a word. He was dreadfully sleepy and felt only in a blur that his mother had not kept her promise and that somehow or other he was being treated meanly. Yet he did not rebel. His susceptibilities were dulled by sleepiness. Besides, he was angry with himself for having fallen asleep while waiting. "Like a baby," he said to himself in disgust before dropping off to sleep again. Since the day before he hated himself for being still a child. CHAPTER VI SKIRMISHING The baron had passed a bad night. It is rather vain to attempt to sleep after an adventure that has been abruptly broken off. Tossing on his bed and starting up out of oppressive dreams, the baron was soon regretting that he had not seized the moment. The next morning when he came down he was still sleepy and cross and in no mood to take up with Edgar, who at sight of him rushed out of a corner and threw his arms about his waist and began to pester him with a thousand questions. The boy was happy to have his big friend to himself once more without having to share him with his mother. He implored him not to tell his stories to her, but only to himself. In spite of her promise she had not recounted all those wonderful things she had said she would. Edgar assailed the baron with a hundred childish importunities and stormy demonstrations of love. He was so happy at last to have found him again and to be alone with him. He had been waiting for him since early in the morning. The baron gave the child rough answers. That eternal lying in wait, those silly questions--in short, the boy's unsolicited passion--began to annoy him. He was tired of going about all day long with a puppy of twelve, talking nonsense. All he cared for now was to strike while the iron was hot and get the mother by herself, the very thing it was difficult to do with this child forever inflicting his presence. For the first time the baron cursed his incautiousness in having inspired so much affection, for he saw no chance, on this occasion at least, to rid himself of his too, too devoted friend.