Mr. and Mrs. Bingle said good night on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. As the latter shook hands with little Madame Rousseau, the mother of Napoleon suddenly fell to shivering. All of the gaiety fell from her like a discarded mantle. Her piquant face became drawn and pinched and her fingers clasped those of Mrs. Bingle in a fierce, almost painful grip. She drew the elder woman apart from the group. "Oh, Madame, you will be good to my little boy," she whispered, beating her breast with her free hand. "I am not gay. I am unhappy. I would not give him up but his father insists it is for the best. I may see him some time, may I not? I love him. He is my joy, my everything. To-night I sing and laugh, but my heart is not light. Non, non! It is like a stone, like ice. Oh, Madame, I implore you to be good to my little boy!" She was crying softly. Mrs. Bingle put her arm about the bent shoulders and drew the young mother close to her side. "Don't you worry, my dear. We'll make a fine man of your little Napoleon. Some day you will look with pride upon him and say: 'I'm glad I brought that man into the world, even though he doesn't know it.' And I am glad that you have cried. It makes another woman of you. I would say 'God bless you,' Madame Rousseau, if it were not that he has already blessed you." Later on in the night, Rouquin and his two companions paused at the foot of a Sixth Avenue Elevated station. "Good night, old fellow," said Rouquin, giving Jean's hand a mighty grip. "You are a true friend." Then Jean said good night cheerily and walked off down the street, whistling gaily, as one who has completed an honest day's work. I think I have neglected to mention that Rouquin was an exceedingly good-looking, fascinating chap of twenty-eight or thirty, and unmarried. CHAPTER XIII TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE! Chapter thirteen is an unlucky one for Mr. Bingle. Many unpleasant things are crowded into the space devoted to this division of the narrative, although in the matter of time we leap from early March to the fifth of July with all the swiftness of one who races at break-neck speed to get away from consequences, or to put a disagreeable task as far behind as possible. In the first place, Kathleen was permitted to remain with the Bingles far beyond the date set for her departure in the custody of a new set of parents. It so happened that on the very day selected for her departure, which was early in March, Rutherford and Imogene came down with a fever and a rash. Dr. Fiddler was summoned from the city. Just as he entered the broad portals at the front of the house, two of the nurse-maids, Stokes and Brown, walked swiftly down the back stairs with their suitcases and bandboxes in their hands.