“You came up for the sitting, then?” “What sitting?” “Why, the grand sitting of the legislative body. It’s do-day.” “Dear me, no. What has that got to do with me? I should understand nothing at all about it. No, I came because I wanted to know my little Jansoulets, and then, I was beginning to feel uneasy. I have written several times without getting an answer. I was afraid that there was a child sick, that Bernard’s business was going wrong--all sorts of ideas. At last I got seriously worried, and came away at once. They are well here, they tell me.” “Yes, Mme. Francoise. Thank God, every one is quite well.” “And Bernard. His business--is that going on as he wants it to?” “Well, you know one has always one’s little worries in life--still, I don’t think he should complain. But, now I think of it, you must be hungry. I will go and make them bring you something.” He was going to ring, more at home and at ease than the old mother herself. She stopped him. “No, no, I don’t want anything. I have still something left in my basket.” And she put two figs and a crust of bread on the edge of the table. Then, while she was eating: “And you, lad, your business? You look very much sprucer than you did the last time you were at Bourg. How smart you are! What do you do in the house?” “Professor of massage,” said Aristide gravely. “Professor--you?” said she with respectful astonishment; but she did not dare ask him what he taught, and Cabassu, who felt such questions a little embarrassing, hastened to change the subject. “Shall I go and find the children? Haven’t they told them that their grandmother is here?” “I didn’t want to disturb them at their work. But I believe it must be over now--listen!” Behind the door they could hear the shuffling impatience of the children anxious to be out in the open air, and the old woman enjoyed this state of things, doubling her maternal desire, and hindering her from doing anything to hasten its pleasure. At last the door opened. The tutor came out first--a priest with a pointed nose and great cheek-bones, whom we have met before at the great _dejeuners_. On bad terms with his bishop, he had left the diocese where he had been engaged, and in the precarious position of an unattached priest--for the clergy have their Bohemians too--he was glad to teach the little Jansoulets, recently turned out of the Bourdaloue College. With his arrogant, solemn air, overweighted with responsibilities, which would have become the prelates charged with the education of the dauphins of France, he preceded three curled and gloved little gentlemen in short jackets, with leather knapsacks, and great red stockings reaching half-way up their little thin legs, in complete suits of cyclist dress, ready to mount. “My children,” said Cabassu, “that is Mme. Jansoulet, your grandmother, who has come to Paris expressly to see you.”