Georgie's heart beat like a sledge-hammer at the heedless remark. Should she tell him at once, or finally make up her mind to pass the rest of her life as a cheat, and the accomplice of that arch-cheat, her cousin? Alas! for her, her impulse was smothered by what she considered her duty to Lucy. She laughed a little hollow laugh--a poor little, weak, stagey giggle. "I fancy he's much like other children," she said; "they always do cry when they see a stranger." "Let's have a good look at him, old girl," said her husband with a smile. Young Mrs. Haggard called the _bonne_, who advanced at the summons, her coarse, but handsome, peasant features lighted by a smile. The proprieties must be observed even in the presence of a _bonne_, and Haggard's hand, which had somehow stolen round his wife's waist, now discreetly sought the shelter of his coat pocket. "Monstrous fine creature, by Jove!" said the husband, as he emitted a vast cloud of smoke. This appreciative remark did evidently not refer to the baby. Many wives would have resented this openly-expressed tribute to Mademoiselle Fanchette's personal attractions, but Georgie was neither surprised nor disgusted. She was accustomed to her husband's ways; often and often, on their marriage trip, had her Reginald drawn her attention to the real or supposed charms of other women. It was a way he had. He didn't admire scenery; he hated pictures; architecture, and especially ruins, were to him abominations. But he did admire the sex. The pegs on which he hung his memory were pretty faces and pretty figures. He would refer to events and places in an original way of his own, as, "The day we met that cardinal's niece with the eyes," or, "Where we saw the American girl with the hair." At first, in their married life, these remarks had a sort of sting in them, but at last Georgie had come to regard them as a sort of proof of the big man's affection. She felt that they were a sign of confidence, that she was endeared to him by the far higher title of comradeship, that she was, in fact, what in his language he would dignify by the appellation of his "chum." Fanchette dropped a courtesy. Fanchette continued to beam, for Fanchette saw that she was appreciated by Monsieur. In fact, the appreciation was mutual; and Fanchette compared her new master, and not unfavourably, either, with the proverbial _pompier_ of her native country. There is a class of men ever ready to chatter with servants, particularly if they are of prepossessing appearance. To this class Mrs. Haggard's husband belonged. He would have been delighted to compliment the _bonne_, but, alas! his linguistic powers failed him. He rose, however, to his feet, and, with true British pluck, employed the few words of Anglo-French he knew; these he accompanied with appropriate pantomime. "_Enfant_," he said, pointing to the child. "_Mon_," he continued, indicating himself. "_Mon enfant_," he triumphantly added, with an air of jubilant proprietorship.