ingle being born, a poor bare wee creature, raising the
faint cry of a chilly fledgeling, and life's immense treasure was
increased and eternity insured. Mathieu remembered one warm balmy spring
night when, yonder at Chantebled, all the perfumes of fruitful nature
had streamed into their room in the little hunting-box, and now around
him amid equal rapture he beheld the ardent sunlight flaring, chanting
the poem of eternal life that sprang from love the eternal.

VII

"I TELL you that I don't need Zoe to give the child a bath," exclaimed
Mathieu half in anger. "Stay in bed, and rest yourself!"

"But the servant must get the bath ready," replied Marianne, "and bring
you some warm water."

She laughed as if amused by the dispute, and he ended by laughing also.

Two days previously they had re-installed themselves in the little
pavilion on the verge of the woods near Janville which they rented from
the Seguins. So impatient, indeed, were they to find themselves once
more among the fields that in spite of the doctor's advice Marianne had
made the journey but fifteen days after giving birth to her little boy.
However, a precocious springtide brought with it that March such balmy
warmth and sunshine that the only ill-effect she experienced was a
little fatigue. And so, on the day after their arrival--Sunday--Mathieu,
glad at being able to remain with her, insisted that she should rest in
bed, and only rise about noon, in time for dejeuner.

"Why," he repeated, "I can very well attend to the child while you rest.
You have him in your arms from morning till night. And, besides, if you
only knew how pleased I am to be here again with you and the dear little
fellow."

He approached her to kiss her gently, and with a fresh laugh she
returned his kiss. It was quite true: they were both delighted to be
back at Chantebled, which recalled to them such loving memories. That
room, looking towards the far expanse of sky and all the countryside,
renascent, quivering with sap, was gilded with gayety by the early
springtide.

Marianne leant over the cradle which was near her, beside the bed. "The
fact is," said she, "Master Gervais is sound asleep. Just look at him.
You will never have the heart to wake him."

Then both father and mother remained for a moment gazing at their
sleeping child. Marianne had passed her arm round her husband's neck
and was clinging to him, as they laughed delightedly over the cradle
in which the