hought. Some day when
he is a great boy, he may hear it and he'll think, 'My mother sang that
hymn. She must have been a good woman!'"

"Nonsense, Lisa," said George kindly. "You'll teach him every day,
while he is growing to be a great boy, that you are a good woman."

She said nothing, but stood on the other side of the crib looking at
him.

"Well, what is it?" said George uneasily. "You look at me as if
somebody were dragging you away from me."

She laughed. "What ridiculous fancies you have!" She came behind him
and, drawing his head back, kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, you poor,
foolish boy!" she said.

Lisa sat down to her work, which was the making of garments for Jacques
out of her own gowns. She was an expert needlewoman, and had already a
pile of fantastic kilts of cloth and velvet.

"Enough to last until he is ten years old," George said contemptuously.
"And you will not leave a gown for yourself."

"There will be all I shall need," she said.

He turned up the lamp and opened Clara's letter.

Lisa's needle flew through the red and yellow silk. It was pleasant
work; she was doing it skilfully. The fire warmed her thin blood. She
could hear the baby's regular, soft breathing as it slept. A pleasure
that was almost like health stole through her lean body. She leaned
back in her chair looking at Jacques. In three years he could wear the
velvet suit with the cap and pompon. His hair would be yellow and
curly, like his father's. But his eyes would be like her mother's.
She pressed her hands together, laughing, the hot tears rushing to her
eyes. "Ah, maman!" she said. "Do you know that your little girl has a
baby? Can you see him?"

What a superb "great boy" he would be! He should go to a military
school. Yes! She lay back in her chair, watching him.

George suddenly started up with a cry of amazement.

"What is it?" she said indifferently.

He did not answer, but turned the letter and read it over again. Then
he folded it with shaking fingers.

"I have news here. Miss Vance thinks it time that I was told, and I
agree with her. It appears that I am a pauper, and always have been.
My father died penniless."

"Then Jacques will be poor?"

"Jacques! You think of nothing but that mewling, senseless thing! It
is mother--she always has supported me. We are living now on the money
that she earns from week to week, while I play that I am an artist!"

Lisa listened attentive