Messieurs Rouquin and Rousseau were talking loudly, rapidly and very excitedly to each other--in French, of course--when Madame burst into the room with the infant. Mr. and Mrs. Bingle, still staring at the unoccupied bed, had nothing but blank bewilderment in their honest faces. "Ah!" shouted the two Frenchmen joyously. "That stupid servant!" squealed Madame Rousseau, hugging the baby to her breast in frantic relief. "Oh, what a fright I have had. Take the baby, Jean. Mon dieu! Do not let it fall! Oh, m'sieur, madame, you will never know how I was anguished. I thought I had lost my darling, my adored one. The black-hand what-you-call-him--non, non, the kidnapper. My baby! Jean, Jean, do not let it out of your sight again--never, do you hear. Now, madame, will you not be kind enough to look at my baby? Come, m'sieur, to the window. Jean, pull up the shade." Jean almost dropped his precious burden in his eagerness to do as he was bidden, and might actually have done so but for the timely intervention of Monsieur Rouquin, who sprang to the window and sent the shade up with a crash that caused Mrs. Bingle to jump with alarm. "See!" shouted Rouquin, stepping back and pointing proudly at the baby. "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle. "Oh, the darling!" cried his wife, and tried at once to take the sunny-faced youngster from the arms of Monsieur Jean. But Jean held on very tightly, apparently awaiting orders. It may have been the unusual fervour of the father's clasp that caused the child to whimper, or it may have been that it never had seen such an expression in its parent's face before. At any rate, as it looked up into Jean's swarthy countenance it began to cry; where upon Madame Rousseau exclaimed shrilly: "Can't you see, Jean? Madame would hold my baby to her breast. Quick! You big simpleton! Ah, madame, my poor Jean is so sad, so broken-hearted over the thought of losing his child that he--There! See! See the lovely smile once more?" It was true that the instant Mrs. Bingle received the plump wriggler in her arms, the beaming smile was restored. Jean moved quickly into the background, and turned his miserable face away from the scene. The Rousseau baby WAS adorable, there could be no mistake about that. In previous experiences, Mr. and Mrs. Bingle had encountered half-starved, unhappy, whining infants. This was the first time they had come upon a lusty, apparently over-fed specimen, and they were at once filled with the joy of covetousness. Thick yellow curls, bright blue eyes, and cheeks that would have shamed the peach's bloom--and a nearly completed row of tiny white teeth--such was the Rousseau applicant at first glance. Moreover, its clothing was clean, soft and sweet-smelling of fabrics that do not often find their way into the houses of the poverty-stricken.