certain deliberation, and whose features might one
day grow to be rugged. There was nothing remarkable
about him save his eyes —the pale eyes that were
set so far apart that his father had laughed when he
was a baby. But now there were times when the
expression of those eyes would suddenly rivet the
Cure's attention; for into them there would creep a
great wisdom, together with a great and most compre-
hending kindness. The Cure would feel a little non-
plussed at seeing so strange a thing in a boy who
appeared to be much as were other children. For
despite his rather deliberate movements, his queer
eyes, and a slow and thoughtful way which he not
infrequently had of speaking, Christophe was by no
means an exemplary child, indeed he was more in
than out of mischief. He and Jan made a practice of
combining forces, as, for instance, when they vivisected
the watch left to Jouse by his maternal grandfather;
and again, when, having learnt of the existence of
snow, they ripped open Marie's best feather pillows.
And the worst of it was that le tout petit Loup must
insist upon trying to emulate them, which would
always end in much the same manner — le tout petit
Loup would have a pain in his stomach; for whenever
he got excited or tired, he invariably suffered from
indigestion.
The Cure's thoughts continued to run on, now
amused and now tinged with an inevitable sadness, for
this very faith which he centred in Jan did but show
him more clearly his own complete failure. All
that this boy would become he might have been, had
he only chosen the path of the fighter. As a priest
he had made scarcely any impression, as a student
he was almost equally useless for his wisdom was
sterile; he could not create and thus pass on the bright
torch of knowledge. If he died not a soul in his parish
would mourn him except perhaps the ambitious
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