“_Voyez vous ça!_ There’s cheek for you!” cried Pavlo. “And what about your father and little Pavlo here? Doesn’t she think of them sometimes?” The smile vanished from Piotr’s face. “Papa knew her long before she knew me,” he said. “Also he is an old gentleman with gray hair--so he doesn’t count; and as to that rubber bath-doll there,” and he contemptuously pointed at his little brother, “how could she love it? It only says _Youm-youm_ and _Gaga-gaga_. It’s an idiot!” As ill-luck would have it, the baby, wholly unconscious of the anathema pronounced against him, selected that risky moment for a _coup-de-théâtre_ of immense magnitude. Sitting up on his blanket, he suddenly raised his head, opened his rosebud of a mouth, and in the rather heart-shaking fashion of the first word ever pronounced, clearly uttered, “_Mayou!_” Marguerite, flushing with delight, started forward to catch him in her arms, but Régis, quicker than she, interposed himself, and, lifting the little fellow, began tossing him up and down as if nothing out of the common had taken place. “What!” Piotr asked in a queer, trembling voice--“what did it say?” Pavlo was on the point of translating his godson’s loyal effort to say “Malou” like Piotr himself, but a glance at Marguerite’s distressed face stopped him, and with a presence of mind quite above praise explained, instead: “Why, didn’t you hear, Piotr? He said _Gou-gou_ or _Mou-mou_, or some other ununderstandable thing of the kind. He is too little to talk yet.” “That’s good!” came from Piotr. “I thought he had said ‘Malou.’ And no one has a right to say that excepting me. Malou is _my_ little darling Malou!” “Oh, come, you’re getting to be a bore with your ridiculous ideas!” Pavlo interrupted, rather sharply, for, uninitiated into the risks of the situation, he was amazed at the extraordinary tolerance of Marguerite and Régis, as well as at the appalled glances exchanged between the nurse--a superb Bretonne in her gorgeous costume--and Garrassime, who had been standing behind Piotr, a silent witness of this curious scene. Fortunately at that moment Basil came striding along the terrace, creating a much-needed diversion, and Garrassime, seizing the occasion, suggested to Piotr to come and arrange his camp for Lieutenant Pavlo’s inspection. As soon as they had disappeared Pavlo irritably turned to Marguerite and asked her, with some military brusqueness, “What the dickens was up?” at which simple remark Marguerite, to everybody’s distress, suddenly broke into a passion of tears. Marguerite--the “Gamin,” Knight of the Golden Spur, weeping, was something unheard, undreamed of! Basil took her in his arms, looking savagely at poor Pavlo, who, in utter consternation, was gazing helplessly at Régis.