As for Polly, to the humblest ornament she had ever worn, to the meanest gift she had received in childhood,--she left all behind her. Her jewels were worth some thousands,--her wardrobe was even splendid; but she went forth without a gem, and with barely what sufficed her in dress. “And what is this?” said the Count, half disdainfully touching with his foot what seemed to be an oblong basket of colored straw. “Poor Josephine's baby!” said Polly, with eyes swimming in tears. “And is he, is she,--whichever it be,--to form one of the party?” asked he, angrily. “Can you ask it, Emile? You remember the last words she ever spoke to us on the morning we left the Killeries.” “That unlucky journey!” muttered he; but fortunately not loud enough for her to catch the words. “The little fellow will soon be able to walk, and to mutter some words; he will be company for me when you are away!” said she, sorrowfully. “L'Ami Joseph ought to fill up that void,” said De Gabriac, laughing. “I think myself the very paragon of husbands to accede to the arrangement!” Strange words were these for her to hear,--nor, indeed, could she penetrate their meaning; but Polly's cares at that moment gave little time for thought, for every detail of preparation was left to her. Raper, it is true, did his utmost to aid her; but already De Gabriac had assumed a manner of superiority and command towards Joe which greatly embarrassed Polly, and compelled her to use every means of keeping them apart. Thus were they started on the sea of life: does it need much foresight to predict the voyage? CHAPTER XXIII. A MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE