The young widow still remained in the breakfast-room, sitting by the little boy, who slept peacefully upon a sofa. As she looked up from the beautiful face, so warm and rosy with sleep, her eyes fell upon this singular woman, who stood within the hall, looking keenly at her from the shelter of her huge, old-fashioned bonnet.
The impression made upon this young woman was quite unlike that left upon the group in the library. A look of profound surprise, not unmingled with amusement at the strange figure which presented itself, came over her face, for she had recovered her child and was disposed to cheerful thoughts.
“The people are all in another part of the house,” she said, pleasantly, “but here is a trifle, if you require help.”
The woman came forward, with a chuckle, and seized upon the piece of silver so kindly offered.
“Ha, ha—I am rolling in gold, rolling in it, do you see. But as for help, the more one has, the more one wants help. I have a cat and three chickens at home, that’ll be the better for what you give them. As for me, I can make my bed of gold and feel it soft. Oh! ha, that’s a pretty boy you’ve got there.”
The young mother was gratified. The woman before her became less grotesque. Maternal love was beginning to soften even her evil exterior.
“Yes,” said the gentle matron, “he is a darling. If you could but see his eyes now. Wait a moment. He stirs!”
“Ah! I can wait to see his eyes, dear little rogue. How white his forehead is! What curls, brown as a chestnut, with a touch of gold in it. Ah, there lies the beauty. Gold, gold, I should like to see it everywhere.”
As she spoke, the old woman crept close to the sofa, and began to lift the curls, which lay on the child’s temple, with her claw-like fingers.
As she did this, the widow, who was looking on rather anxiously, for she recoiled from the sight of those hooked finger-nails so close to the snowy forehead of her child, saw for the first time what looked like the shadow of a ruby cross upon the boy’s temple, the top running up among the curls, which, strangely enough, did not grow upon the spot, but only sheltered it from casual scrutiny.