wanted to drink." And in a
contrite voice, his head bent down on his breast, he repeats with a deep
sigh, "'A little lamb was quenching his thirst in a clear stream."'

We all, with ears on the alert and a smile on our lips, follow his
delightful little jargon.

Uncle Bertrand, who is rather deaf, has made an ear trumpet of his hand
and drawn his chair up. "Ah! I can follow it," he says. "It is the fox
and the grapes." And as there is a murmur of "Hush," at this
interruption, he adds: "Yes, yes, he recites with intelligence, great
intelligence."

Success restores confidence to my darling, who finishes his fable with a
burst of laughter. Joy is communicative, and we take our places at table
amid the liveliest mirth.

"By the way," says my father, "where the deuce is my lantern. I have
forgotten all about the cellar. Jean, take your basket and let us go and
rummage behind the fagots."

The soup is smoking, and my mother, after having glanced smilingly round
the table, plunges her ladle into the tureen. Give me the family dinner
table at which those we love are seated, at which we may risk resting our
elbows at dessert, and at which at thirty we once more taste the wine
offered at our baptism.

CHAPTER XXIV

LETTERS OF A YOUNG MOTHER TO HER FRIEND.

The little caps are the ones I want, Marie. Be good enough to send me the
pattern of the braces, those of your own invention, you know. Thanks for
your coverlet, it is soft, flexible, warm, and charming, and Baby, amid
its white wool, looks like a rosebud hidden in the snow. I am becoming
poetical, am I not? But what would you have? My poor heart is overflowing
with joy. My son, do you understand that, dear, my own son? When I heard
the sharp cry of the little being whom my mother showed me lying in her
apron, it seemed to me that a burning thrill of love shot through my
veins. My old doctor's bald head was close to me, I caught hold of it and
kissed him thrice.

"Calm yourself, my dear child," said he.

"Doctor, be quiet, or I will kiss you again. Give me my baby, my love.
Are you quite sure it is a boy?"

And in the adjoining drawing-room, where the whole family were waiting, I
could hear amid the sound of kisses, the delightful words, "It is a boy,
a fine boy."

My poor husband, who for twelve hours had not left me, overcome with
fatigue and emotion, was crying and laughing in one corner of the room.

"Come, nurse, swaddle him, quick now. No pins, conf