"Poor little love, with his bare feet! Come, darling, and warm yourself under the counterpane."
I lift him toward me, but at this moment my wife, who is asleep, suddenly wakes.
"Who is there?" she exclaims, feeling for the bell. "Thieves!"
"It is we two, dear."
"Who? Good heavens! how you frightened me! I was dreaming the house was on fire, and that I heard your voice amid the raging flames. You were very indiscreet in shouting like that!"
"Shouting! but you forget, mamma, that it is New Year's Day, the day of smiles and kisses? Baby was waiting for you to wake up, as well as myself."
However, I wrap the little fellow up in the eiderdown quilt and warm his cold feet in my hands.
"Mamma, it is New Year's Day," he exclaims. With his arms he draws our two heads together, puts forward his own and kisses us at haphazard with his moist lips. I feel his dimpled fists digging into my neck, his little fingers entangled in my beard.
My moustache tickles the tip of his nose, and he bursts into a fit of joyous laughter as he throws his head back.
His mother, who has recovered from her fright, takes him in her arms and rings the bell.