“Its baptismal dress?” repeated the mother.
“Oh, Madame!” ejaculated the father, twisting his cap between his fingers.
“Or a cloak, just as you please,” added Marsa.
The poor people on the barge made no reply, but looked at one another in bewilderment.
“Is it a little girl?” asked the Tzigana.
“No, Madame, no,” responded the mother. “A boy.”
“Come here, jean,” said Marsa to the oldest child. “Yes, come here, my little man.”
Jean came forward, glancing askance at his mother, as if to know whether he should obey.
“Here, jean,” said the young girl, “this is for your baby brother.”
And into the little joined hands of the boy, Marsa let fall a purse, through whose meshes shone yellow pieces of gold.