Mossy, with still greater surprise, and laying his hand
on the arm of his chair.
His father put on a dying look. "My soul!" At that moment his glance
fell upon the paper which had been sent in by Madame Delicieuse. "But,
Mossy, my son," he screamed, "_there_ it is!" striking it rapidly with
one finger--"there! there! there! read it! It calls me 'not
responsible!' 'not responsible' it calls me! Read! read!"
"But, papa," said the quiet little Doctor, rising, and accepting the
crumpled paper thrust at him, "I have read this. If this is it, well,
then, already I am preparing to respond to it."
The General seized him violently, and, spreading a suffocating kiss on
his face, sealed it with an affectionate oath.
"Ah, Mossy, my boy, you are glorious! You had begun already to write!
You are glorious! Read to me what you have written, my son."
The Doctor took up a bit of manuscript, and resuming his chair, began:
"MESSRS. EDITORS: On your journal of this morning"--
"Eh! how! you have not written it in English, is it, son?"
"But, yes, papa.
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