"And you, Mr. Rousseau, will be obliged to swear that you, as well as your wife, forfeit all claim, present or future, to this child, and do so without force or duress. Of course, I shall ask my attorney to explain everything to both of you, so that you may not act without complete understanding. Before we go before the Court, you will be instructed in every move you are to make. And now, Madame, will you be willing to take oath that you are the mother of Napoleon and as such will henceforth cease to regard him as your son in case we conclude to adopt him as our own?" Madame Rousseau looked from Jean to Rouquin and then from Rouquin to Jean, quite helpless in the face of this requirement. Rouquin and Jean looked at each other, and Jean's jaw was set rather hard and there was an anxious, uncertain look in his eyes--a look not far short of being rebellious. The young mother covered her face with her hands and began to sob violently. For some reason, Jean's jaw relaxed. "Oh, my poor little Napoleon!" she moaned. "How can I give you up? My angel Napoleon!" "See here," exclaimed Mr. Bingle, touched by this sudden aspect of misery, "I'm a very tender-hearted man. If you will permit me, Madame, I may be able to arrange a way for you and your husband to find a means of living comfortably on good wages, and you may then be in a position to keep little Napoleon--" "No, no!" cried she instantly--almost fiercely. "I could not think of it, M'sieur. I cannot consent to any--" "Pardon me," interrupted Rouquin blandly. "Allow me to propose a--" "I shall not listen to any proposition that may include Jean and myself in--" "In other words," said Rouquin, turning to Mr. Bingle, "she will not accept charity for herself or her husband. They are very proud, Mr. Bingle. They would die before accepting charity from--" "A thousand times!" blurted out Monsieur Jean, wiping his brow. "Count me out!" "Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle. Napoleon began to cry. He had a lusty pair of lungs. Almost instantly, the motherly looking person appeared in the doorway. She had been waiting for Napoleon's signal. "See!" she cried, holding up a bottle of milk. "I have it! To the dairy-lunch and the chemist's I have been while--" Rouquin leaped forward and snatched the squalling Napoleon from Mrs. Bingle's arms, and an instant later deposited him in those of his maternal grandmother, who in almost the same instant was pushed rudely out of the room. The door was quickly closed. Napoleon's howls receded. "Now," said Rouquin, "we may talk in peace. My faithful old servant, Madame," he went on, turning to Mrs. Bingle with his rarest smile. "I do not know what I should do without her. She has gone out for the milk and--Ah, what a treasure she is! Mon dieu, how I appreciate that wonderful Fifi! That is her name, Madame--Fifi. Ah! Sublime--" "She didn't look like a servant, Mr. Rouquin," said Mrs. Bingle, recovered from her surprise.