She would no more think of venturing
upon the street in--but, we waste time. Of what interest can be the
foibles of my poor old servant to you. Madame? Come, Marie--you see I
have known Madame Rousseau these many years, M'sieur--come, let us
assure Mr. Bingle that he need have nothing to fear if he decides to
do you--and poor old Jean here--the honour of adopting your most
fortunate baby."
Madame Rousseau dried her eyes upon a singularly pretty little
handkerchief, and then smiled beatifically.
"M'sieur need have no fear. I shall take the oath for my grand, my
adorable Napoleon's sake. After that, what shall I care what becomes
of me. He shall be safe. That is enough."
"Good!" cried Mr. Bingle. Then he turned to the silent, glowering
Jean. "And you, my good man. Will you also take oath that Napoleon is
your son and that you, as his lawful father--"
"I say, Rouquin," began Jean in a far from amiable tone. Rouquin at
once took him by the arm and led him into the bedroom, whispering
fiercely all the way.
"My Jean is very proud," explained Madame Rousseau, dabbing her nose
and eyes with a bit of a powder rag.
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