"I thought I told you to put it in your bag."
"Yes, but my bag...." She interrupted herself, and uttered a cry of joy. She had not observed that her bag had remained attached to her arm. She felt the strings, undid them, opened it, and found the bun. It was a little crushed, indeed, by her fall, but the pieces were good. She gave one of them to the mother, who, without saying a word, and thinking herself unobserved, put it into her pocket. Cecilia again felt in the bag, and taking off her other glove, asked whether, if she crumbled a little of the soft part in her hand, they could not make the infant take some of it.
"What he wants," said Madame de Vesac, "is his mother's milk; but even supposing she has any for him, he is not at present sufficiently strong to take it; we must endeavour to reach some inhabited place as speedily as possible, where we may be able to give him the attention he requires."
Then the poor woman, who, after a moment of intense joy, felt all her fears and grief revive, said weeping, "If he only lives until we reach Chambouri, I have my mother there, and she is very skilful in the care of children."
"Where is Chambouri?" inquired Madame de Vesac.
"It is a short league from here," replied the poor woman.
"It is the post town," added Comtois. "Do you know the way to it?"
"Do I know the way to it?" said the woman. "I was born there."
"Why did you not go there instead of remaining against that tree?"
"I fell three times upon the ice; the third time my poor baby gave a scream, and then was silent. At first I thought I had killed him; and then I thought if I fell again, I should be sure to kill him; besides, a moment after, finding he did not move, I believed him dead, and had no heart for anything."