"How do you do, Rouquin?" said he, stopping to proffer his hand to the
Frenchman.
"See here, Mr. Bingle," began Rouquin, in an agitated undertone; "I
want a word or two with you about Napoleon. What is to become of that
child, now that you are down and out? Will he be sent to some accursed
charity home or--"
"Possess your soul in peace, Rouquin," said Mr. Bingle, drawing back
to look more intently into the unfriendly eyes of the once amiable
Rouquin. "Napoleon shall have the best I can give him, no more. He is
as well with me as he could ever have been with his good-for-nothing
father, and if I choose to get rid of him later on to the best
advantage I won't be doing anything more despicable than his father
and mother did before me. Please bear that in mind."
"I shall see to it that he is taken away from you before he is a week
older," cried Rouquin angrily. "You cannot expect me to leave that
helpless child--"
"What have you got to do with it, Rouquin?" demanded Mr. Bingle
sharply.
"I am his mother's friend. I promised her that he should have a fine
home.
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