"Ill?" "Yes. Then I couldn't take him to that place. He might have died." "But when he got better?" "Well, he didn't get better all at once. After that sickness another came. He coughed so it would have made your heart bleed to hear him, poor little mite. Our little Nicolas died like that. It seemed to me that if I sent him to the Foundlings' Home he'd died also." "But after?... after?" "Well, time went on and I thought that as I'd put off going I'd put it off a bit longer." "How old is he now?" "Eight." "Well then, he'll go now to the place where he should have gone sooner, and he won't like it so well now." "Oh, Jerome, you can't ... you won't do that!" "Won't I? and who's going to stop me? Do you think we can keep him always?" There was a moment's silence. I was hardly able to breathe. The lump in my throat nearly choked me. After a time Mother Barberin went on: "How Paris has changed you! You wouldn't have spoken like that to me before you went away." "Perhaps not. But if Paris has changed me, it's also pretty near killed me. I can't work now. We've got no money. The cow's sold. When we haven't enough to feed ourselves, have we got to feed a child that don't belong to us?" "He's mine." "He's no more yours than mine. Besides, he ain't a country boy. He's no poor man's child. He's a delicate morsel, no arms, no legs." "He's the prettiest boy in the village!" "I don't say he ain't pretty. But sturdy, no! Do you think you can make a working man out of a chit with shoulders like his? He's a city child and there's no place for city children here." "I tell you he's a fine boy and as intelligent and cute as a little cat, and he's got a good heart, and he'll work for us...." "In the meantime we've got to work for him, and I'm no good for much now." "If his parents claim him, what will you say?" "His parents! Has he got any parents? They would have found him by now if he had. It was a crazy thing for me to think that his parents would come and claim him some day and pay us for his keep. I was a fool. 'Cause he was wrapped up in fine clothes trimmed with lace, that wasn't to say that his parents were going to hunt for him. Besides, they're dead." "Perhaps they're not. And one day they may come...." "If you women ain't obstinate!" "But if they do come?" "Well, we've sent him to the Home. But we've said enough. I'll take him to-morrow. I'm going 'round to see François now. I'll be back in an hour." The door was opened and closed again. He had gone. Then I quickly sat up in bed and began to call to Mother Barberin. "Say! Mamma!" She ran over to my bed. "Are you going to let me go to the Foundlings' Home?" "No, my little Remi, no." She kissed me and held me tight in her arms. I felt better after that and my tears dried on my cheeks. "You didn't go to sleep, then?" she asked softly. "It wasn't my fault." "I'm not scolding you. You heard what he said, then?" "Yes, you're not my mamma, but ... he isn't my father."