"See!" she cried, holding up a bottle of milk. "I have it! To the dairy-lunch and the chemist's I have been while—"
Rouquin leaped forward and snatched the squalling Napoleon from Mrs. Bingle's arms, and an instant later deposited him in those of his maternal grandmother, who in almost the same instant was pushed rudely out of the room. The door was quickly closed. Napoleon's howls receded.
"Now," said Rouquin, "we may talk in peace. My faithful old servant, Madame," he went on, turning to Mrs. Bingle with his rarest smile. "I do not know what I should do without her. She has gone out for the milk and—Ah, what a treasure she is! Mon dieu, how I appreciate that wonderful Fifi! That is her name, Madame—Fifi. Ah! Sublime—"
"She didn't look like a servant, Mr. Rouquin," said Mrs. Bingle, recovered from her surprise.
"You speak of her dress, Madame? Has she not declared but now, this instant, that she went out to the chemist's, to the dairy-lunch? Catch Fifi on the street in her servant's dress! No, no! She spends her wages on dress, vain creature. She would no more think of venturing upon the street in—but, we waste time. Of what interest can be the foibles of my poor old servant to you. Madame? Come, Marie—you see I have known Madame Rousseau these many years, M'sieur—come, let us assure Mr. Bingle that he need have nothing to fear if he decides to do you—and poor old Jean here—the honour of adopting your most fortunate baby."
Madame Rousseau dried her eyes upon a singularly pretty little handkerchief, and then smiled beatifically.
"M'sieur need have no fear. I shall take the oath for my grand, my adorable Napoleon's sake. After that, what shall I care what becomes of me. He shall be safe. That is enough."
"Good!" cried Mr. Bingle. Then he turned to the silent, glowering Jean. "And you, my good man. Will you also take oath that Napoleon is your son and that you, as his lawful father—"
"I say, Rouquin," began Jean in a far from amiable tone. Rouquin at once took him by the arm and led him into the bedroom, whispering fiercely all the way.
"My Jean is very proud," explained Madame Rousseau, dabbing her nose and eyes with a bit of a powder rag. "He is so obstinate, too. But M'sieur Rouquin will talk sense into his head, never fear."