"Jules is dead, and so is his son and all the family,--died in America.

This is his son's son, Jules, the last of the name.

If I choose to take him from a foreign poorhouse and give him shelter, it's nobody's business, Louis Brossard, but my own." With that he strode on up the stairs to his room, the boy still in his arms.

This sudden coming of a four-year-old child into their daily life made as little difference to Brossard and Henri as the presence of the four-months-old puppy.

They spread a cot for him in Henri's room when the master went back to Algiers.