"Poor Pierrot," said Bijou compa.s.sionately, "he is not as ignorant as all that!" And then, as her uncle did not answer, she added: "And then, too, he is ever so nice, and he is so strong and well."

"Oh, as to that," said M. de Jonzac, "his health is perfect, and that just makes him all the more insufferable, but not any more intelligent though. Everyone complains about the overtaxing of the intellectual faculties; they say that it is the ruin of children; and so, by way of improvement, they go in now for overtaxing them physically, which is a more certain ruin still."

"Ah, uncle is waging war now," put in Bertrade; "but I am of his opinion, too, for I do not like to think that some day my children will add to the number of the young ruffians we see around us."

"But," objected Henry de Bracieux, "many of them--and some quite young, too--are very intellectual; I know some."

"I, too, know some," said Jean de Blaye; "but, to my way of thinking, they are not precisely intellectual, they are--"

Just at this moment a bell was rung in the hall.

"We must go to luncheon, children," said the marchioness, rising, "Jean will finish his little definition for us at table."

"Oh, I am not particularly keen about it, aunt," said Jean, laughing.

"I am, though; I am no longer 'in the know' of things, as you say, and I don't object to be instructed about certain matters on which I am absolutely ignorant."

On taking her seat at table, the marchioness, addressing Jean, continued:

"You were saying that the young men who were not precisely the intellectual ones were--"

"Oh, I am not good at explanations," he replied.

"That does not matter; go on, anyhow."

"Well, those who are not really intellectual are of the sickly kind; they act that sort of thing to begin with, and then they end by getting like it in reality; they are intolerably affected, effeminate, crazy, and everything else beside. They set up for being original, and not like anyone else."

"Well, and what do you call them?"

"I don't exactly know; they are of the complex kind. There's young La Balue, for instance, he's a perfect example for you of this cla.s.s; you might study him."

"That's an idea that has never entered my head; but, in the young generation of to-day, there are others beside these complex ones."

"Yes, they are the athletes."

"Specimen, Pierrot!"--remarked Henry de Bracieux.

The marchioness turned towards her grandson.

"Don't be personal," she said. "Continue your little speech, Jean."

"I would rather eat my egg in peace, aunt!"

"We had got as far as the athletes--"

"Well, then, if the complex young men of to-day are a trifle sickening, the athletes are the greatest nuisances under the sun.

Boxing, football, bicycles, matches, and records--all that, they consider of the most tremendous and vital importance, not only in their conversation, but, what is more regrettable still, in their lives. In their opinion, a man of worth is the one who can give the hardest blows, or who is endowed with the greatest strength or vigour; all their admiration is bestowed on one single being in the world--_the Champion_, with a capital C."

"And what is there between the complex young man and the athletes?"

"Nothing; or, at least, some exceptions so rare that they are there simply to confirm the rule. Of course, I am only talking now of the young generation, of the latest--Pierrot's, in fact."

"Do leave poor Pierrot in peace!" said Bijou; "you all find fault with him."

"Because it is not too late yet for him to put his young self to rights, and if he were to be let alone, he would soon degenerate in the most deplorable manner."

"Jean is right," agreed M. de Jonzac; "he can very well afford to give advice to Pierrot, and even to the others, for he is himself highly intellectual and very good at sports."

Madame de Bracieux looked at her nephew with a benevolent expression in her eyes:

"Your uncle is right, my dear boy, you are the greatest success of the family," she said, and then seeing that Bijou appeared to be examining her cousin curiously, she added: "I am only speaking of the men, of course."

Pierrot leaned over towards Denyse, who was seated next him, and said, in an undertone with deep grat.i.tude, "It's awfully good of you to stick up for me always, and I can't tell you how fond I am of you--more than any of the others."

She answered with a smile; and in an almost maternal way, said:

"That's very wrong! You ought to be much fonder of uncle, and of grandmamma, too, than you are of me."

"Oh, well, to begin with, there's no rule for that, and then, too, I didn't mean that at all. I meant that I am fonder of you than all the others are; and, you know, there's some of them very fond of you; there's Paul, for instance, Paul de Rueille--I'm sure he likes you better than he does Bertrade, or his children, better than anyone--even G.o.d!"

"Do be quiet!" said Bijou, alarmed, and looking round to see if anyone had heard.

"Don't be in a fright! They are all busy worrying each other; they are not troubling about us. It's quite true what I said, you know; and then Jean, too, and Henry, and Monsieur Giraud! There's scarcely anyone, except Abbe Courteil, who does not follow you about to every corner you go; and then--"

"You are talking rubbish! how can you imagine--"

"I don't imagine it--I see it!--and I see it, because it annoys me!"

Just at this moment M. de Jonzac's voice was heard.

"Oh, no!" he was saying, "I am convinced that he has no idea that Renan ever existed. He does not know a thing--not a single thing."

"Oh, yes," put in the tutor, in his usual gentle and conciliatory way, "as regards Renan, I am sure that he knows. Only three or four days ago I had occasion to quote him as the author of the 'Origin of Language.'"

"Well, I would wager that he does not even remember his name--Pierrot!" called out M. de Jonzac.

The poor lad, entirely absorbed in his conversation with Bijou, had no idea that he was being discussed. On hearing his name called, he turned his head towards his father, vaguely uneasy.

"Pierrot," asked M. de Jonzac, "who was Renan?"

"Ah! that's it, is it," said Pierrot to Bijou, "now they're beginning the examination again. Renan--who in the world was he now?"

"You do not know who Renan was, do you?" asked M. de Jonzac blandly.

"No, father, I don't," replied the boy.

"What?" exclaimed Giraud, surprised; "why, only the other day we were talking about him."