“I will ask the honour,” I said, “of dusting M. l’Amiral’s coat for him.” * * * * * * * That same afternoon, as I was again, during the hour of exercise, standing near the sewer, of a sudden I heard a most heartrending voice calling from the other side of the wall. “Messieurs! messieurs!” it cried. “Will no one send to me my darling?” I dropped upon my knees (I give all honour to M. de St Prest), and, with a shudder of nausea, lowered my face to the opening. “Who speaks?” I said. “I am at madame’s service.” The voice caught in a sob. “_Je vous rends grâce_--whoever you are, I thank you from my heart. It is my little Foucaud, my dearest, that must come to his _maman_, and quickly.” I answered that I would summon him, and I rose to my feet. I had no difficulty in finding the boy. He came, white-faced and wondering, and knelt down. “_Maman, maman_--canst thou hear me? My throat is a little hoarse, _maman_.” “Oh, my baby, my little son! Thou wilt be sweet and tender with Lolo in the happy days that are coming. And thou wilt never forget _maman_--say it, say it, lest her heart should break.” God of mercy! Who was I to stand and listen to these pitiful confidences! I drew aside, watchful only of the boy lest his grief and terror should drive him mad. In a moment a white hand, laden with a dark thick coil of hair, was thrust through the opening. It was all the unhappy woman could leave her darling to remember her by. No glimpse of her face--no touch of her lips on his. From the dark into the dark she must go, and his very memory of her should be associated with the most dreadful period of his life. When they came for her in another instant, I heard the agony of her soul find vent in a single cry: “My lambs, alone amongst the wolves!” Kind Madame Beau was there beside me. “Lift him up,” she whispered. “He will be motherless in an hour.” As I stooped to take the sobbing and hysterical child in my arms, I heard a voice speak low on the other side of the wall-- “It is only an interruption, madame.” Gardel’s words--but the speaker! I stumbled with my burden--recovered myself, and consigned the boy to the good soul that awaited him. Then hurriedly I leaned down again, and hurriedly cried, “Carinne! Carinne!” * * * * * * * There was no answer. Probably the speaker had retreated when the wretched Madame Kolly was withdrawn from the wall. I called again. I dwelt over the noxious gutter in excitement and anguish until I was convinced it was useless to remain. Was it this, then? that out of all the voices of France one voice could set my heart vibrating like a glass vessel that responds only to the striking of its single sympathetic note? I had thought to depose this idol of an hour from its shrine; I had cried shame upon myself for ever submitting my independence to the tyranny of a woman, and here a half-dozen words from her addressed to a stranger had reinfected me with the fever of desire.