"And here is the first year's money down on the nail," went on Gilbert, placing ten fine gold coins on the table, which made the two women open their eyes and little Ange Pitou stretch out his devastating hand. "But if the little thing should not live?" queried the nurse timidly. "It would be a great blow--such a misfortune as seldom happens," responded the gentleman; "Here is the hire settled--are you satisfied?" "Oh, yes, sir." "Let us now pass to the future payments." "Then we are to keep the child?" "Probably, and be parents to it," said Gilbert, in a stifled voice and losing color. "Dear, dear, is he an outcast?" Gilbert had not expected such feeling and questions: but he recovered from the emotion. "I did not tell you the whole truth," he said; "the poor father died on the shock of hearing that his wife gave up her life in bearing him the child." The women wrung their hands with sympathy. "So that the child can reckon on no love from his parents," continued Gilbert, breathing painfully. At this point in tramped Daddy Pitou with a calm and jolly manner. His was one of those round and honest characters, overflowing with health and good will, such as Greuze paints in his natural domestic pictures. A few words showed him how matters stood. Out of good nature he understood things--even those beyond his comprehension. Gilbert made it clear that the keep-money would be paid until the boy was a man and able to live alone with his mind and arm. "All right," said Pitou, "I rather think we shall take to the kid, though he is a tiny creature." "Look at that," said the women together, "he thinks it a little dear just like us." "I should like you to come over to Master Niquet's where I will leave the money required so that you may be content and the child happy." Gilbert took leave of the women and bent over the cradle in which the new-comer had ousted the rightful heir. He wore a sombre air. "You look little like me," he muttered, "for you have the aspect of your proud mother, the aristocratic Andrea, daughter of Baron Taverney." The trait broke his heart: he pressed his nails into his flesh to keep down the tears flowing from his aching breast. He left a kiss timid and tremulous on the babe's fresh cheek and tottered out. He gave half a louis to little Ange, who was stumbling between his legs, and shook hands with the women who thought it an honor. So many emotions oppressed the father of eighteen years that little more would have prostrated him. Pale and nervous, his brain was spinning. "Let us be off," he said to Pitou, waiting on the sill. "Master!" called out Madeline from the threshold: "his name--what did you say his name is?" "Call him Gilbert," replied the young man with manly pride.