The little Francis had now advanced close to the party around the baptismal font, eager with childish curiosity to see the infant just baptised.
He at once recognised the little cap he had been accustomed to look upon with peculiar veneration. His joy at again seeing it overcame his timidity. He exclaimed with delight—
"That cap is mine; I wore it when I was little."
All eyes were now turned on our little Francis. The priest approached him, and taking him kindly by the hand, led him to the Countess.
She gazed for a moment as if in admiration of the face now raised to hers, then said, in a trembling voice—
"Oh! tell me if this cap was really yours; how it came here; who are your parents, and where are they?"
"Yes, yes, lady, the cap is mine; the wife of the wicked steward at Feldsberg took it. She made him take everything we had; we have come all the way from Feldsberg, and my father and mother are here."
"Fetch them, fetch them quickly," said the Countess, "that they may tell me about this child, and this cap. Good father," she added, turning to the priest, "may I not hope to have found my child? Do you not see a likeness to my noble husband?"
The good man feared to encourage hopes which might not be realised, but was spared answering the question by the approach of Gaspard and his wife. The Countess advanced towards them, holding Francis by the hand.
"Tell me, my friend, is this child yours?"