Oscar to step into his shoes as steward of Presles! Why he'd have to learn agriculture, and know how to survey." "He can learn." "He--that pussy cat! I'll bet that if he does get a place down there, it won't be a week before he does some doltish thing which will make the count dismiss him." "Good God! how can you be so bitter against a poor child who is full of good qualities, sweet-tempered as an angel, incapable of doing harm to any one, no matter who." Just then the cracking of a postilion's whip and the noise of a carriage stopping before the house was heard, this arrival having apparently put the whole street into a commotion.

Clapart, who heard the opening of many windows, looked out himself to see what was happening.
"They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," he cried, in a tone of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy.
"Good heavens! what can have happened to him ?" cried the poor mother, trembling like a leaf shaken by the autumn wind.
Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and Poiret.
"What has happened ?" repeated the mother, addressing the stable-man.
"I don't know, but Monsieur Moreau is no longer steward of Presles, and they say your son has caused it.

His Excellency ordered that he should be sent home to you.

Here's a letter from poor Monsieur Moreau, madame, which will tell you all.

You never saw a man so changed in a single day." "Clapart, two glasses of wine for the postilion and for monsieur!" cried the mother, flinging herself into a chair that she might read the fatal letter.