“You think he has?”

“I am sure of it,” said Athos; “don’t you see that Raoul is in love?”

“Indeed!

with whom — with a child seven years old?”

“Dear friend, at Raoul’s age the heart is so expansive that it must encircle one object or another, fancied or real. Well, his love is half real, half fanciful. She is the prettiest little creature in the world, with flaxen hair, blue eyes, — at once saucy and languishing.”

“But what say you to Raoul’s fancy?”

“Nothing — I laugh at Raoul; but this first desire of the heart is imperious.