Non, non! It is
like a stone, like ice. Oh, Madame, I implore you to be good to my
little boy!"
She was crying softly. Mrs. Bingle put her arm about the bent
shoulders and drew the young mother close to her side.
"Don't you worry, my dear. We'll make a fine man of your little
Napoleon. Some day you will look with pride upon him and say: 'I'm
glad I brought that man into the world, even though he doesn't know
it.' And I am glad that you have cried. It makes another woman of you.
I would say 'God bless you,' Madame Rousseau, if it were not that he
has already blessed you."
Later on in the night, Rouquin and his two companions paused at the
foot of a Sixth Avenue Elevated station.
"Good night, old fellow," said Rouquin, giving Jean's hand a mighty
grip. "You are a true friend."
Then Jean said good night cheerily and walked off down the street,
whistling gaily, as one who has completed an honest day's work.
I think I have neglected to mention that Rouquin was an exceedingly
good-looking, fascinating chap of twenty-eight or thirty, and
unmarried.
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