Jerome had loved the tiny boy with all his being. He had laid long, silent plans; had seen the boy grow up; saw himself even standing by Lili for the sake of the child. He would love him more and more as the years went on. The sense of warm devotion in Jerome’s heart had been almost overpowering at times. But now the baby was gone, and the dreams—they were gone too. It seemed almost like the end of everything.
III
The baby was buried at sea. One of the seamen, who was clever with tools, made a smooth little casket, and the small form was laid out in it, dressed in such finery as it had acquired during the brief earthly sojourn. The contralto who had had babies herself, in her time, offered some very life-like artificial roses which she was accustomed to wear in the Chimes of Normandy. The roses were pinned at the waist of the little dress. Somebody muttered a fragment of prayer, and the cover was fitted on.
Lili was sobbing hysterically, and Jerome stood near her, his hands over his face.
It was a quiet night, with a few stars. The casket was lowered gently in the dark. And the little mascot was gone from them forever.