And the good fellow, always square, always frank, always open hearted as he had been in other days, a little more bearded, a trifle less burnt, his ears still pierced by silver rings, thought it was his duty to tell young Paridael how well he looked, although the boy no longer had his former bright and carefree air. But at that minute the boy's joy at seeing Vincent again was so great that a transient gleam dissipated the shadows of his prematurely thoughtful expression.
"I never go out alone," he answered, sighing deeply. "My cousin thinks it wasted time, and that visits would distract my attention from my studies. Studies! That's all my cousin ever thinks about!"
"True! Well, it's a pity," said Vincent, a little disappointed. "But it's for your own good. Siska will understand that! And you will become a great scholar and do us all proud, eh. Master Lorki?"
What would he not have given to seize the sailor and charge him with kisses for Siska! But within the walls of that malevolent factory, so near the room in which his majestic cousin sat enthroned, not far from the place haunted by the terrible Felicité and the mocking Gina, the schoolboy felt ill at ease, hampered, constrained, and so did not give expression to his emotion. And he felt a little remorseful at the thought that he had not once inquired for his faithful Siska since the day of his father's funeral.
Vincent divined the boy's embarrassment. At Laurent's age feelings are not easily disguised, and Vincent easily read the boy's pain in his serious expression, his husky voice, and especially in the fervent looks that lingered upon this dear inhabitant of his father's house. And as tears threatened to veil Laurent's big homesick eyes:
