d up on his
arm beneath the cloak. Then, still femininely, she went on: "Ah! let
me see the _pauvrette_," and without resistance from him she drew back
the cloak and gazed at it. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, "a pretty
little thing. Poor little _bebe_. And the mother dead, monsieur?" her
eyes filling with tears as she spoke.

"Dead," he replied--"dead. In giving birth to her. I am father and
mother both. God help her!"

The woman stooped down and kissed the little thing, whose soft blue
eyes smiled up at her; then she said:

"The Marquis Phelypeaux is a solitary--dwelling alone. There is little
provision for children there. What will monsieur do?"

"As I have done for three years--attend to all its wants myself. There
is none other. It had a nurse in the fort; but I could not leave it
nor bring her with me. In Paris I may find another. Now tell me where
the house of this marquis is?" and he made a movement to go forward.

"And its name, monsieur?" the kindly woman asked, still touched with
pity for the little motherless thing being carried on so long and cold
a journey. Two or three of her own children were already in their beds
of rags that were none too clean, but they, at least, were housed and
warm, and not like this one.

"Her name," he replied, "is Dorine. It was her mother's." Then turning
to the warder, who stood by, he exclaimed again, "Now direct me to the
marquis's, I beg you."

The man's method of direction was to seize by the ear a boy who at
that moment had come up--he was one of his own numerous brood--and to
bid him lead the monsieur to the marquis's.

"'Tis but a pistol shot," he said, "at the foot of the Rampe. Be off!"
to his son, "away! Escort the gentleman."

Certainly it was no great distance from the southern gate, yet when
Monsieur St. Georges had arrived there, still leading his horse by one
hand and carrying his precious burden by the other, or by the other
arm, the house had so deserted a look that it seemed as though he was
hardly likely to be able to carry out the orders of the king and his
minister to quarter himself upon the marquis instead of going to an
inn. Therefore, he gazed up at the mansion before which he stood
waiting, wondering what kind of man was this who dwelt in it.

The house itself was large and vast, having innumerable windows giving
on to a large, open, bare _place_ in front of it, while the great
_porte cochere_ had a lock which looked as though it would resist