They had
only turned a corner, when Anton came up to the lodging. The old
woman could but inform him that the children had gone out with
Pericard. That she did not know when they would be back. That Joe
also had gone away quite early.
Anton felt inclined to swear. He had made a nice little plan for
this morning. He had sent Joe away on purpose. There was nothing now
for it but to wait the children's return, as it would be worse than
useless to pursue them over Paris. He only hoped, as he resigned
himself to his fate, that they would return before Joe did.
CHAPTER XI.
THE FAUBOURG ST. G----.
Pericard was a genuine French lad. Perhaps few boys had undergone
more hardships in his life; he had known starvation, he had known
blows, he had felt in their extremity both winter's cold and summer's
heat. True, his old grandmother gave him what she could, both of love
and kindness. But the outside world had been decidedly rough on
Pericard. An English boy would have shown this on his face. He would
have appeared careworn, he would scarcely have seemed gay. Very far
otherwise, however, was it with this French lad. His merry eyes
twinkled continually. He laughed, he whistled, he danced. His
misfortunes seemed to have no power to enter into him; they only
swept around.
Had he then a shallow heart? Who can tell? He was a genuine specimen
of the ordinary Paris gamin.
Pericard now much enjoyed the idea of taking Cecile and Maurice out
to the rather distant suburb called the Faubourg St.
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