"You speak of her dress, Madame? Has she not declared but now, this instant, that she went out to the chemist's, to the dairy-lunch? Catch Fifi on the street in her servant's dress! No, no! She spends her wages on dress, vain creature. She would no more think of venturing upon the street in--but, we waste time. Of what interest can be the foibles of my poor old servant to you. Madame? Come, Marie--you see I have known Madame Rousseau these many years, M'sieur--come, let us assure Mr. Bingle that he need have nothing to fear if he decides to do you--and poor old Jean here--the honour of adopting your most fortunate baby." Madame Rousseau dried her eyes upon a singularly pretty little handkerchief, and then smiled beatifically. "M'sieur need have no fear. I shall take the oath for my grand, my adorable Napoleon's sake. After that, what shall I care what becomes of me. He shall be safe. That is enough." "Good!" cried Mr. Bingle. Then he turned to the silent, glowering Jean. "And you, my good man. Will you also take oath that Napoleon is your son and that you, as his lawful father--" "I say, Rouquin," began Jean in a far from amiable tone. Rouquin at once took him by the arm and led him into the bedroom, whispering fiercely all the way. "My Jean is very proud," explained Madame Rousseau, dabbing her nose and eyes with a bit of a powder rag. "He is so obstinate, too. But M'sieur Rouquin will talk sense into his head, never fear." There was an awkward silence. Finally Mrs. Bingle spoke. "Is your husband a descendant of the painter?" Madame Rousseau looked surprised. "He IS the painter, Madame." "The--impossible! I refer to the great Rousseau of the 1880 school." "Oh, I see. No, no--he is not that one. Jean was not yet born. Mon dieu, was there another Rousseau?" "There was," said Mrs. Bingle tartly. "Jean is the painter of to-day. He is great, he is splendid, he is magnificent. But, la la! he is so poor!" "That seems to establish him all right," said Mr. Bingle. Rouquin and Jean reappeared. Both were smiling cheerfully. Jean affected a somewhat degage manner and a perceptible swagger. "Very well, M'sieur," he said. "I'll swear to it." "Then I shall leave the details to my attorney, who, you will discover, is a most conscientious, dependable person. In the meantime, when will it be convenient for Dr. Fiddler to examine Napoleon?" Rouquin explained at some length in rapid French, and Madame Rousseau was once more consoled. Jean appeared to be somewhat bored. He yawned, in fact. "And now," cried Monsieur Rouquin in a great voice, "I have a plan. Let us celebrate the birth of Monsieur Napoleon Bingle by dining together at Pierre's. This day he is born again--or, at least, prospectively born. Life for him really begins to-day--the sixth of March. It is my treat! I shall be the host on this memorable occasion. Pierre shall give to us the best duckling in his larder and the rarest bottle of--" "But my dear Rouquin," began Mr. Bingle.