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t out. The little child, Dorine, had slept well, the _patronne_ said, had lain snug and close with two of her own all through the night, while she had seen to its nourishment and had herself washed and fed it. "Heaven bless you, for a true woman," St. Georges said, "Heaven bless you!" But the woman would hear of no thanks; she reiterated again and again that she was a mother herself and had a mother's heart within her; she only wished monsieur would leave the little thing with her until he came back; she would warrant it should be well cared for until he did. "I doubt my ever coming back this way," he said, as he ate his breakfast--a substantial one, far different from that which the bishop's servant had been able to set before him--and she ministered to his wants, "unless the future war rolls toward Burgundy. I am _en route_ for Paris, and Heaven only knows where to afterward." "Find a good home for her, monsieur," she said, "a home where she may at least be safe while you are away campaigning. Nay," she continued, "if I might make so bold, meaning no offence, find a new mother for her. It would be a sad life for her even though monsieur followed a stay-at-home existence; 'twill be doubly hard when you are separated from her." But St. Georges only shook his head and said mournfully there was no other wife for him; a statement from which she dissented vehemently. Then she asked: "Does monsieur know of any one in Paris to whom the little Dorine might be confided? If not," she continued--"she intended no liberty!--she could recommend one with whom it would always be safe. A woman of Dijon like herself, married and settled in Paris; married, indeed, to a cousin of her late husband, who, rest his soul! had been dead eighteen months. This woman's husband was a mercer in a large way of business in the Rue de Timoleon, lived well, and had children of his own; it would be an _abri_ for the child if monsieur cared to consider it." "Care to consider it!" exclaimed St. Georges, "why, it is the very thing I should wish." Then he paused a moment, reflecting deeply and looking round the kitchen, as though to see that they were alone, which they were with the exception of the mousquetaire, who sat by the great fire warming himself. "Hark you, dame," he said, lowering his voice a little, though not from any fear of the mousquetaire hearing, but more from instinct than anything else. "You have done me one great kindne
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