gtide."

He came back and lingered near the bed. The sun's rays poured over it,
and life blazed there in a florescence of health and beauty. There is no
more glorious blossoming, no more sacred symbol of living eternity
than an infant at its mother's breast. It is like a prolongation of
maternity's travail, when the mother continues giving herself to her
babe, offering him the fountain of life that shall make him a man.

Scarce is he born to the world than she takes him back and clasps him
to her bosom, that he may there again have warmth and nourishment. And
nothing could be more simple or more necessary. Marianne, both for her
own sake and that of her boy, in order that beauty and health might
remain their portion, was naturally his nurse.

Little Gervais was still sucking when Zoe, after tidying the room, came
up again with a big bunch of lilac, and announced that Monsieur and
Madame Angelin had called, on their way back from an early walk, to
inquire after Madame.

"Show them up," said Marianne gayly; "I can well receive them."

The Angelins were the young couple who, having installed themselves in
a little house at Janville, ever roamed the lonely paths, absorbed in
their mutual passion. She was delicious--dark, tall, admirably formed,
always joyous and fond of pleasure. He, a handsome fellow, fair
and square shouldered, had the gallant mien of a musketeer with his
streaming moustache. In addition to their ten thousand francs a year,
which enabled them to live as they liked, he earned a little money
by painting pretty fans, flowery with roses and little women deftly
postured. And so their life had hitherto been a game of love, an
everlasting billing and cooing. Towards the close of the previous summer
they had become quite intimate with the Froments, through meeting them
well-nigh every day.

"Can we come in? Are we not intruding?" called Angelin, in his sonorous
voice, from the landing.

Then Claire, his wife, as soon as she had kissed Marianne, apologized
for having called so early.

"We only learnt last night, my dear," said she, "that you had arrived
the day before. We didn't expect you for another eight or ten days. And
so, as we passed the house just now, we couldn't resist calling. You
will forgive us, won't you?" Then, never waiting for an answer, she
added with the petulant vivacity of a tom-tit whom the open air had
intoxicated: "Oh! so there is the new little gentleman--a boy, am I
not right? A