126 STORIES FROM DAUDET

is at his pillow: she has not left it all
night, so fearful is she of the anger of
her husband. The old man has not
slept either. Up to the morning he
has walked about the house, weeping,
sighing, opening and shutting cup-
boards, and now, here he is, entering
his son’s room, solemnly, dressed as
for a journey, with high gaiters, his
big hat, and solid alpenstock tipped
with iron. He went straight to the
bed. ‘Come, up with you, get up.’

The lad in confusion begins’ to
gather his Zouave regimentals to-
gether.

‘No, not those . . .’ says the father
severely.

And the mother, timidly : ‘But, my
dear, he has no others,’

‘Give him mine, then. I have no
more use for them.’

While the boy dresses himself, Lory
carefully folds up the uniform, the
little vest, the big red breeches; then
the bundle made, he slips round his