The Treasure of Franchard - Page 2

the boy set perched atop of them, like a cloud, in the
corner of the roof.

It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched
skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of
haunting eyes. It was not merely that these eyes were large, or
steady, or the softest ruddy brown. There was a look in them,
besides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He
was sure he had seen such a look before, and yet he could not
remember how or where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a
stranger to him, had the eyes of an old friend or an old enemy.
And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly
indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a
superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against the
bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But,
for all that, his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room
with a thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether
he was fascinating the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He
busied himself over the sick man: he put questions, he felt the
pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and swore: and still,
whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his
with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze.

At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered
the look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a
dart, had the eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not
at all deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at
you from below his brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so
much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to
explain away his interest.

For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and,
still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round
and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the
least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor.

'Is this your father?' asked Desprez.

'Oh, no,' returned the boy; 'my master.'

'Are you fond of him?' continued the Doctor.

'No, sir,' said the boy.

Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances.

'That is bad, my man,' resumed the latter, with a shade of
sternness. 'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal
their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched
a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of
disappointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see
him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such
as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with faculties!
When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the
breath extinct, and even