“Well, I won’t tell you about that bedside, and Frank’s silent anguish; you know well enough about such scenes—The room was large and lofty, not unlike this. At the far end was an alcove, curtained off; and behind the drapery I could discern a light, and a cradle; but we did not speak of those things. There was no attendant. Anita’s old nurse, Loretta, who was a kind of mother to us all, was sleeping in the next chamber, worn out with labor and sorrow. And the others, those terrible, necessary others that you and I can never get used to, were not to appear until the morrow. “It was like Janvier not to waken Loretta. He himself brought water and towels. Giuseppe was just about to mix his first plaster when a knock was heard. Janvier stepped out, but soon returned to tell Giuseppe, very gravely, that little Emilio was once more in agony, and that both of them must go at once, in the hope of saving the child’s life. You see Janvier had made some important studies in children’s lung troubles, and had worked out some successful methods that he didn’t yet dare trust to others, without supervision.” “You mean to say he and Giuseppe left you there?” “It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it? If Janvier could bear his part, why shouldn’t I bear mine? I knew it might be hours before he would leave Giuseppe’s child. And I knew, too, that the exalted loveliness of that dead face might vanish at any moment; such looks do not stay long among us. Janvier’s quiet putting aside of his own feelings showed me what to do. I steeled myself and made the mould. I don’t mind telling you, a cold sweat broke out all over me; but dreading it was really much harder to bear than doing it. There was something in the still beauty of the girl’s face that strengthened me; I seemed to see and feel this loveliness even while I was veiling it under layers of plaster. And when I had taken the mould away, and the face was revealed again, no less peaceful than before, and quite unprofaned by my work, I felt a kind of consolation. My part of the work had been rightly done, for all my trembling; and Giuseppe could easily make the cast itself, in my studio. “A long time, as it seemed to me, I sat there by the bed, watching that beloved face. I wondered whether the same radiant peace shone from the face of the dead child. I knew Anita would wish to have me look at her child; I owed it to her memory. “I parted the alcove curtains, and turning up the light, I lifted the delicate little linen sheet that covered the cradle. What I saw I have never yet spoken of to any one, not even to Janvier; perhaps least of all to Janvier, Janvier with his great dream of justice! I know that what I say is safe with you, Gerald? You promise? The little face, exquisitely fashioned and peaceful, indeed, was unmistakably one of those darker blossoms on the tree of life. The darker strain! And it was far more clearly marked than in Richmond.” Gerald recoiled in horror. “Richmond—”