“It was a shocking spectacle,” declares the Senator.
“You must, you shall be slain,” we cry in frenzy. And then, in the Quarter, appears the Army; and the Army goes for us; and before such overwhelming odds, we fly; and twenty of us who fly and fly find ourselves at last, dishevelled and breathless, in a dim, deserted side street.
Not a sound; we are too much exhausted to speak.
A moon and stars, silence and peace. Twenty dishevelled and exhausted students, who sit on the kerbstone, on doorsteps, to rest. And then, all of a sudden, a Cry. A feeble, plaintive Cry from a doorstep: and on the doorstep, a bundle. Twenty exhausted, dishevelled students before the bundle; a bundle—that cries. An amazing discovery, a sensational surprise! The bundle is a Child; the bundle is a Gosse; the bundle is a bud of a Girl.
Twenty exhausted, dishevelled students strangely in possession of a baby; and who nurse the baby, and who seek to win her confidence, with awkward caresses, and by swinging her to and fro, and by assuring her that she is safe and sound. And, finally, twenty good Bohemians who resolve to adopt the Child, and introduce her formally to their colleagues, and proclaim her before all the good Bohemians of the Rive Gauche: “The Adopted Daughter of the Students of the Latin Quarter.” But, the name, the name? The Saint for the day is Lucie: so, Lucie. The gosse was found on the last night of the Bagarre: so, Bagarre. Thus, with the polite prefix, we get:
Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre.
Does Paul buy books on the nursing of infants, or the bringing up of children? And Gaston; does he go blushing into a shop and stammer out a request for a baby’s complete outfit? At all events, awkwardness and unrest in the Quarter. It is such a responsibility to have a Daughter; it is such an anxiety to attend adequately to her needs! And so, after infinite discussion, it is determined that Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre shall reside in the home of Enfants Trouvés, until the best-hearted of foster-mothers in the whole of France shall have been found.
Says Paul, gravely: “Country air is indispensable.”
Says Gaston: “Milk and eggs.”
Says Pierre: “Companions of her own age.”