“But, mademoiselle, it’s for the child’s good!”
“But I don’t choose to make madame feel badly.”
Jasmin made up his mind like a devoted servant: he went to his master. Monsieur de Grandvilain was lying on his couch, enveloped in his morning gown; his head was covered with a jaunty green velvet cap, which he was careful to place over the ear which he no longer had. For some time the old marquis had had the habit of moving his jaws, as one does when one is sucking or eating something, and that constant movement gave his face the appearance of a nut-cracker. Those persons who were not aware of this trick of the marquis, waited, before speaking to him, for him to finish swallowing what he was chewing; but they waited in vain, for the jaws continued to make the same movement.
Since the occasion of the fireworks, Monsieur de Grandvilain had treated his valet with less affability. However, Jasmin’s face bore so many scars that his master could hardly bear him ill-will for an accident of which he had been the second victim.
“What do you want of me, Jasmin?” said Monsieur de Grandvilain, when he saw that his valet stood before him with an embarrassed air.
“Monsieur, I hope that you will excuse me for what I am going to say, but it is my attachment for you and our young marquis that has decided me to speak.”
“I am aware of your attachment, Jasmin, although the proofs of it which you have given me have sometimes had unfortunate results.”
As he spoke, Monsieur de Grandvilain scratched the place where his ear should have been.
Jasmin glanced about him, walked closer to his master, and said in a low voice and with a mysterious air:
“Let me tell you, monsieur, that your son is melting----”
The old man fell back on his couch and gazed anxiously at his servant, exclaiming:
“Melting! my son! Great heaven! has he fallen into the stove?”
“When I say melting, my dear master, I mean simply falling away, that he has lost five ounces, neither more nor less, since the day he was born.”
“The devil take you, Jasmin, you gave me a horrible fright! I wonder if you will never be any less stupid!”
“It was my attachment for you, monsieur, that made me think that I ought to tell you. Turlurette has weighed our little Chérubin, and she is sure of what she says. She doesn’t dare to tell madame, but I thought it was better to tell you; for if the child goes on like this, in a few months he won’t weigh anything at all.”